


The Magisters and the Wolf

by Abstract_Error



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Marriage of Convenience, Romance, Sacrifice, Sexual Content, Tevinter Imperium, The Chantry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abstract_Error/pseuds/Abstract_Error
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betrayed by the ones she reluctantly protected and crippled by the love of her life, Inquisitor Lavellan does the unthinkable - joins herself to the Imperium, sealed through her marriage to Dorian.   Now, years after Solas revealed himself as Fen'Harel, she and her husband have climbed step by bloody step to power within Tevinter in anticipation of Solas' return.  But will their carefully laid plans survive the coming of the Dread Wolf? Or, the even more grievous danger: the bitter differences between her and her friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence: I

 

_First among the Old Gods was Silence._

_His least whisper could end wars or topple Archons._

_A single word could turn recrimination into glory._

_The sacred fires of his temple burned_

_Rare incense, and the trees of Arlathan, and lapped at the bones of slaves_

_While his altars dripped with the blood of sacrifices that never dried._

**_Silence 1, Canticles of Silence._ **

* * *

'I wish you would not constantly do that,' Dorian said, looking on as his wife of five years put the finishing touches on her hair and make-up.

'What precisely?' the lady Veldrin Pavus, nee Lavellan asked, meeting his glance in the mirror and smiling wryly; the man smiled wryly in his turn. She knew all too well what he was going to say, the man thought, but she was going to make him say it again.

He didn't mind. It was all part of their game.

'I wish you would not hide your ears,' Dorian said, kindly. 'Or the colour of your eyes. You are,' he followed, 'the most beautiful woman in Minrathous.'

'Fit wife to the most handsome man in Minrathous,' she returned, smiling wide – and indeed, she was the most beautiful woman in Minrathous, the magister thought, measuring his old companion with the eye of a dispassionate connoisseur of pure esthetics. Half a decade before, when he'd proposed to her, and first told her he found her beautiful, she'd taken the words in jest, until he had, in all seriousness clarified that one could find horses, dogs and cats, paintings and statues beautiful, and still not have the most minor sexual interest in them – as, he had followed, one could have pointed, unexplained erotic attraction to people who did not meet even minimal esthetic standards.

_Beauty,_ he'd said, _is not implicitly erotic._

They had been standing in the now emptied library in Skyhold, with the husks of memories shuffling around them like so many restless despair demons. He remembered that in bitter, inner irony, he'd wished they had at least been rage demons, yet…

After Veldrin had disbanded her Inquisition, rage had stalked Skyhold's corridors too, but its reign had been brief, for stones alone could not sustain it. Only men could, and, as men had scattered to the four winds, the spirit of anger had gone with them, making place for the cool despair of the once more cold, humid walls and dark, once more purposeless corridors. During those harrowing days, as he'd watched tapestries being brought down from windowsills and statues being pulled off their perches, Dorian had wondered whether there was such a thing as a demon of sadness, or whether they were creating one now…If Veldrin herself was.

Someone – Dorian had assumed it had been Cullen, but it might as well have been Leliana – had ordered that Solas' murals be stripped or painted over; the Inquisitor had caught wind of it, and stopped the builders mid-effort. Of all the terrible sights of those weeks of demolition – the sight of the empty dais under the stained glass window, the gaping, toothless shelves where books has once been crammed, empty stables, upturned herbariums…even the deafening silence left behind in Leliana's attic empty of crows…Of all those things that filled the mind with frustration and the heart with defeat, there had been nothing that had touched him more than seeing Veldrin stand in Solas' half vandalised sanctuary, in quiet contemplation of a love that had only been by half.

She'd made him think of Felix, and the thought had hurt. For the first and last time, he'd wished he had rushed home to Tevinter, and to his seat in the Magisterium, and not delayed his departure to witness the Inquisition's dissolution. Still, he'd immediately known, it was not _that_ that he could not bear to witness…No.

The thing he could truly not endure was the sudden reminder that love could turn ugly _,_ deadly and cruel with a single brush stroke of fate; not only romantic love, Dorian had reasoned, but a father's love too…

He'd stood there, watching her grieve, seeing her _alone_ for the very first time, and, for the very first time, truly noticing her beauty.

Veldrin Levellan had high, finely chiseled cheekbones, almond shaped eyes in the colour of gold; her hair was deep black, and her skin was ivory white, her lips were thick and pink as raspberries. She was slight, as all elves, but her ears were close to her skull and had a decisive upward slant; even if only among her own, she must have stood out.

Or perhaps not, Dorian had thought. Maybe elves liked dark skin and light hair; maybe they liked blue eyes or green. Maybe they liked ears that stood out from the skull. Maybe she was, actually, quite ugly.

He knew nothing of what elves considered beautiful.

'Marry me,' he'd said; in the naked library, Veldrin had laughed, and her laughter had echoed through an attic without Leliana, without crows and without nugs.

'What is that you say, Magister Pavus?' She'd asked. 'If you can't marry a man, you'll marry an elf?'

'Gives them all the two fingers I can still give them, as Sera would have it,' Dorian had shrugged. 'Gives you a hand', he'd added, grinning. 'I notice you happen to be missing one, so…'

He'd leaned on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his most disarming grin splayed on his features, and begun explaining himself, full thoughts forming along with words.

'You need to move out of Thaedas,' he'd said. 'You will need new allies, allies that Solas doesn't know. Unless you plan to join the Qun, your only logical choice is Tevinter – why come to Tevinter as a nameless elf?'

'I do have a name, Dorian,' the elven woman had scolded. 'I happen to like it, and the world happens to know it.'

'The world will forget it in a month's time, Veldrin. Unless you plan to gather resources by making paid appearances at fashionable parties as the ex-Inquisitor…Or,' he had followed, in a chuckle, 'as the woman who threw a hefty book at Arl Teagan's head in Exalted Council…'

'Sorry I missed,' Veldrin had answered, arching both eyebrows.

'I am sorry you missed, too,' Dorian had conceded, 'but that is beyond the point.'

He'd let himself slip to the floor, and she'd sat before him with her legs crossed.

'I will take it as a favour,' he'd spoken, keeping his eyes on the floor. 'I've inherited a seat, not earned one, and they will not let me sit peacefully in the Magisterium without a wife,' Dorian had reasoned, rolling his words with the weight of his own bitterness. 'They can do little to remove a man such as I, but much to belittle me and lessen my influence. I am not…'

'You are not like them,' Veldrin had nodded.

'Well, indeed, I am not; my fashion sense is flawless – someone should inform them that the cowls of Magister robes do have the rather awkward appearance of elven ears,' the man had said, joking without smiling. He'd closed his eyes. 'I want to do some good for Tevinter, I still hope I can,' Dorian had whispered. 'For that, my father's name aside, I need to not outright be known as…a deviant. I will, sooner or later have to bow to the pressure and take a wife. My mother has already bargained me out to three bloodlines, after this…'

'I don't want to make another woman miserable as my mother has been through all these years, Vel. My mother,' he'd whispered, 'doesn't even refer to them as people. She calls them bloodlines, and to them, I am a bloodline in turn…'

'I see. Thus, you decided to make me miserable, as I am not even human,' the elf had giggled, as thoughts swirled in her golden eyes.

He'd frowned a little, and she'd tilted her head to the side, admitting she'd perhaps been a tad unfair.

'You remember what I told you in Halamshiral,' Dorian had followed. 'You are my best friend, perhaps my only friend.'

'I am an elf, Dorian,' Veldrin had said, softly. 'An elf, and a daelish mage.'

'An elf whose name is still remembered,' he'd answered. 'An elf not even the Archon would oppose, for now – you did take his nuts off the fire with the Venatori, after all. The Magisterium actively entrusted you with Alexius' fate as well, thus some grudging recognition exists. As for my family,' Dorian had sighed, 'even if they only think of lines of succession, they know two things as fact – one is that your bloodline, for however murky, must be tremendously powerful, as only you and Corypheus…'

'Survived the Orb at the Temple of Lost Ashes, yes,' she'd agreed.

'The fact that our children can only be human is also a good point,' Dorian had said, in turn. 'Which should present no hindrance to either of us, since we shall not be labouring too much on making any.'

She'd lowered her glance. 'It is generous of you,' the woman had replied, shaking her head. 'Yet, for all your reasoning, I think it unwise.'

'You cannot remain _here,_ Vel,' Dorian had insisted, pursing his lips. ' _He_ will be watching you with a thousand eyes, and listening to you with a thousand ears.'

'I know,' Veldrin had answered. 'I know, but…'

'Unless, of course, that is what you want,' he'd said, sternly, only to immediately regret both his words and his tone, for her glance had clouded with sorrow.

'No,' Veldrin had replied, attempting to frown. 'But it feels…too soon, somehow.'

'It will never feel like long enough has passed,' Dorian had said, taking her right hand in his. 'And while you stay here…Look,' he'd gently followed, 'it is not only _him_ that will be watching you; you will be seeing him through the corner of your eyes as well – where can you hide from the ghost of what was while you remain in the south? In Val Royeaux, where you danced? In the Dales, with the lingering presence of his spirit friend? In…'

'You are being cruel,' the woman had whispered, but she'd not withdrawn her hand.

'And you are,' he'd whispered, 'beautiful.'

She was, he thought, looking at her now. Dorian lazily stood from the bed to undo Veldrin's hair and braid it again, in such a way that the pointy tips of her ears were clearly visible. This too was part of their game, and he greatly enjoyed it, because, he considered, he did not only like the look of her, but he truly liked the way they looked, together.

He'd had a portrait of them commissioned two years before, after the Imperium had repelled the Qun in such a decisive manner that many doubted the horned ones would ever return – they had both been active in the conflict, and though many had frowned upon the fact that Veldrin enjoyed the front lines too much for a ennobled woman, her efforts had consolidated her status. The tongues had not stopped wagging, of course, but the snickers had stopped and receded to whispers; the constant pressure for producing an heir had somewhat eased, too, though that was something that would never disappear and would soon become poignant again.

Indeed, Dorian thought, doing his best to reproduce the braid she had had while posing for their portrait, Veldrin had not aged a single day, while he…Well, the touch of salt in his hair and moustache rendered him even more dashing, yet also pointed to the passage of time – relatives to the fourth degree eagerly watched Veldrin's waist, and some more daring uncles had even asked whether he knew that women had some vague anatomical differences from men.

So good was their act, that none suspected the truth – he'd all but let it all slip once, when he'd been drunk enough to mention that perhaps the Pavus family should resign themselves to the fact that the peace treaty he had engineered with Orlais would be their only legacy. To his great good fortune, his company had been equally in their cups, so the words had passed unnoticed. He'd merely scolded himself, and he'd started watching who he drank with – something that was long overdue anyway.

The woman looked over her shoulder, in mock dismay, all but making him ruin the last of the knots.

'Will you never get tired of offending your mother?' Veldrin asked, twitching the tips of her ears, high, then low, than in a circle through both points. 'She is getting on in years, you know; I feel like every time she sees me, she loses another six months of life.'

'That's what I am aiming for, yes,' Dorian answered, smiling resplendently, then passing his hand over her features to change her eye colour back from dull brown to gold. 'Isn't that better?' he queried, facing her to the mirror.

Veldrin smirked.

'I look like an elf, Dorian.'

'You look like the woman who threw a hefty book at Earl Teagan's head, and will watch him kneel before her tonight, as we bring Ferelden in from the cold as well.'

'I look like an elf,' she repeated.

'You look like the only good elf left in the known world, Vel.' Dorian whispered, kissing the side of her neck, and making her giggle.

'I take it Lexi will be there tonight?' she queried. He straightened and frowned.

'Well, anyone who is anyone from Quarinus to Vol Dorma will be there – it is not every day that the Divine meets the Black Divine, and we accept peace with Ferelden, so yes, he will be attending...What makes it obvious, though?'

'Your moustache is too starched. It tickles,' She laughed. 'You always overdo it when you know he will be around.'

'Meh.' Dorian said. 'Fix it.'

'I hear and obey,' Veldrin said, standing up and forcibly sitting him before the mirror. She picked up a small comb, then, kneeling by his side, arranged his moustache in its fine shape, not noticing that it was salted with grey. 'Are you nervous?'

'Me?' Dorian laughed. 'Never. Perhaps a little,' he admitted, a second later. 'We have not seen Cassandra since the signing with Orlais, and she has announced Leliana as part of her suite, thus, above the great diplomatic tensions that the evening will doubtlessly carry…'

_They have news and unwanted gifts. And above all I have secrets,_ he thought, but did not say out loud; he did not need to. She had already paled.

The effort of locating Solas or identifying any means of stopping him had never dulled, despite the fact that after the Inquisition had been dissolved, it had been relegated to the shadows. Without the knowledge of the impending threat to all, however, it was unlikely that Tevinter and Orlais would have admitted to the fact that they were no longer at war – Cassandra's influence in Val Royeaux had been priceless, as was the fact that Briala held Empress Celine's ear.

Ferelden had not truly paid heed to the warnings; in truth, the fact that Tevinter and Orlais had declared peace had probably been the only reason why they had accepted to sign a treaty, in turn. They'd not been overly generous, though, Dorian thought, admiringly looking at himself in the mirror and rewarding his wife's efforts with a distracted peck on the cheek. The thorny issue of war compensations was still very much on the negotiating table – the papers which would be signed and celebrated this eve were only a principle accord.

It did not much matter; not even three armies could stop a god who could petrify men without even looking their way. He strived to keep the notion from his mind.

'Am I handsome?' Dorian asked, instead, hoping to keep the pallor from her cheeks for just a while longer.

'The most handsome man in Minrathous,' Veldrin laughed. 'Lexi will be glad to see you, and he can stay the night without too many precautions, this time. Just…'

'Please don't get arrested, this time, yes, yes,' he muttered, rolling his eyes. 'You'd think the guards would know how to recognise a Magister…'

'You could not even pronounce the word _Magister_ , Dorian,' she scolded. 'In fact, I don't think you knew your own name. Get drunk at home, like decent folk…'

'I somehow doubt it will be that kind of a night,' he said, softly. 'If Leliana…'

He reached for her left hand, the left hand he'd reconstructed for her with the aid of three Mortalitasi and a ritual that was best left unmentioned in polite company. It was still dead cold, but it had started acquiring the colour of the rest of her skin, and the black veins had finally begun to recede.

'We'll make it that kind of night,' Veldrin reassuringly responded, squeezing his hand with the little strength the graft allowed – that too would change, in time. 'We have a new victory to our name, and old friends coming…and you have Lexi. Be happy, Dorian.'

Be happy.

_Live well, for as long as you have left._

He stood from the mirror, but caressed her shoulders and helped her sit down again – he ran his thumbs over her perfect cheekbones, to remove the last piece of the disguise…and there, on the looking glass was beautiful Veldrin, of the Dalish, her face once more decorated by the markings of an ancient elven slave.

'Why did not let _him_ remove these, Vel?' he asked. 'Why…did you not have them removed yourself? You know the truth now; he did not lie to you.'

'You've asked me that before,' the elf softly replied, looking her reflection in the eyes, 'and I've told you what I told him – they are part of me, and hold a different meaning than they did in the dead world he seeks to bring back. If he had meant for the people to remember him, he could have…'

She furiously shook her head, and darted to her feet to face him.

'Why do you ask?' Veldrin bitterly inquired. 'You've heard all this before, and whatever Leliana brings…won't change my…my resolve. I am not one of Solas' ghost elves. I am Veldrin of the clan Lavellan, of the Dalish nation, I am alive, and my culture is not lessened by the fact that Fen'Harel took a three millennia long nap.'

He sensed the tears in her voice, and put his arms around her – she resisted, but only a little, before melting to the embrace and resting her forehead on his shoulder.

'You've heard all this before,' she whispered.

'I know,' Dorian answered, in an equally quiet voice. 'It was you, not I, who needed to hear it again. Are we ready to smile and wave, Lady Pavus?'

'No.' she said, clasping him tight.

'Too bad, because we need to join the banquet, meet old friends, smile and wave at old enemies, and we are more than fashionably late. You know,' Dorian Pavus said, 'I never thought I could love a woman as much as I love you. _Amata._ '

'I never thought that I could love a human as much as I love you, either. _Amatus._ '

'The world is full of surprises,' he brightly declared. 'Next thing you know, there _will_ be flying cows over Minrathous.'

* * *

It was hard to believe, Leliana thought, dreamily glancing out through the carriage window, that a city could look so dark despite the fact that the full moon was out. The jet black stone seemed to consume not only the moonlight, but the red glow of the many magical torches; the tall buildings looked as if they'd had been claws reaching for the sky and impression not lessened by the fact that many of them were crooked, and in an ill-disguised state of disrepair.

There was nothing of Orlais' arrogantly neat, but light hearted, gilded glow here; there were no swirls to please the eye, no waterways, no life-like statues - only sharp obelisks, dark as dragon's teeth caked in dry blood. None walked the streets along the path along which they had been escorted. Leliana could swear that since they'd passed the Orlesian border, they had not seen any man or woman that had not been thrice approved by the Magisterium, the utter lack of normal life rendered Minrathous, in particular, as grim as she imagined the Nevarran necropoles were. If there was any existence here that was not controlled by magic, the Magisterium wanted no one to see it.

'How could Veldrin live with herself here?' Leliana asked Divine Victoria. 'This place is dead; this place is…'

_Maker's breath, this place is exactly what our legends told it would be._

'This place is terrible,' Leliana reiterated, looking at her shoes and finding them suitably ugly for the occasion. 'This is Tevinter.'

It was the first time she would directly encounter Veldrin since she had left Orlais; they had agreed on as little direct communication as possible, and even that had been indirect, and never delivered by the same means or messenger. That, however, had ensured that no personal touches to the communication remained, and, watching the grim world outside the carriage's window, Leliana wondered whether anyone could live in such a place and still retain any part of their true selves.

'Yes, Leliana, this is Tevinter. We are in Tevinter's capital.' Cassandra Pentaghast answered, with a touch of impatience designed to disguise her own unease. 'What amazes you so?'

_Maker,_ Leliana thought, watching a pair of juggernauts screech the heavy gates of the Argent Spire aside to allow their carriage passage to the wide staircase bathed in crimson magic lights. What did not amaze or disgust her might have been a better question.

'Aside for us being here?' Divine Victoria sighed.

The carriage pulled to the side of the steps, and came to a flawless stop. Slaves, elven and human opened the carriage doors. Divine Victoria and Leliana stepped out, to immediately be flanked by armed and armoured guards, who shadowed them so closely one might have mistaken them for prisoners, not guests.

Both women looked up to the peak of the Argent Spire – an iron fist holding up a crown of thorns, yet their feet touched deep velvet, and they came a staircase bathed in crimson light from below and above. The steps beneath the velvet were crumbling.

Cassandra struggled with her robes, as she most often did when she hid a short sword beneath them. As she did not need to hide her own blades, Leliana nimbly helped Divine Victoria up along the staircase towards Dorian Pavus and Veldrin Lavellan, who were serving at the front of the welcome committee.

Veldrin, Leliana thought, looked _exactly_ like herself, yet nothing like Leliana remembered; it was as if she had gone through some effort to look blatantly elven, so much so that her appearance had the air of a disguise. Even from three steps below, there was no colour one could behold in her cheeks other than that applied by make-up, nor a sparkle in her eye other than that gifted by the many diamonds she wore around her throat; the next thought came, unwanted and unbidden.

_That is how you could live with yourself in Tevinter, Inquisitor. They found your price._

'Divine Victoria,' Veldrin said, smiling a strained smile. 'Sylaise bless you with the power and endurance to weave all nations together tight enough to hold water.'

What a choice of greeting, Leliana thought, barely disguising a shudder but feeling oddly relieved at the same time. It took some form of otherworldly courage to speak such provocative words to the head of the Andrastian faith, under Minrathous' sky; Veldrin wore her old face as a disguise, maybe, but she certainly sounded like herself. The only way in which she could have proved more _militant_ might have been speaking the phrase in elven.

'That is indeed what we are here to accomplish,' Cassandra said, managing a smile of her own; to Leliana's surprise, the elf winked. The gesture was quick enough for anyone who did not know her to miss, but…The spymaster had caught it, and so had Cassandra.

Veldrin bowed briefly, and moved aside, allowing the Divine passage. The rest of those who had been selected to extend first greetings advanced, and any trace of relaxation vanished from Cassandra's face and posture.

_A decent player of the game you will never be, my old friend,_ Leliana thought, allowing herself the brief amusement of the consideration that Cassandra looked stiff and just about ready to lift her white skirts and draw her sword on the men who were bowing to her.

'My, my,' Dorian said, oddly voicing Leliana's thoughts, 'eight years as Divine, and she is still as graceful as a reanimated suit of heavy armour. While you,' he followed, unpleasantly narrowing his eyes, 'look just about ready to not enjoy the party. Leliana,' he greeted.

'Dorian,' she returned, measuring him from head to toe, and finding he was not ageing well at all.

_But then, who does,_ she scolded herself, trying to forget the last time she'd caught a glimpse of her own wrinkles in the mirror.

'Walk ahead of me, while their attention is still on Cassandra and Vel,' he instructed, in a quick whisper. She did so, ascending each step towards the main hall as if it had been the steep side of a mountain. 'I am sorry I could not give you tacit permission to enter Tevinter in another manner than as part of Cassandra's suite,' the man softly spoke, from behind her. 'I know you might have preferred it that way.'

Leliana nodded, keeping her eyes ahead. 'I might have,' she answered.

'Sadly, we are still a nation addicted to the illusion of control,' Dorian said; she imagined he was smirking, and lowered her chin to disguise a smile of her own.

Her agents had been travelling in and out of the Imperium for years, unseen, unheard and unnoticed, yet _she_ had to be watched.

'It's alright, Dorian,' she said. 'There is nothing more private than a public space – we can see all who can see us. Is the Magisterium happier to see me than Veldrin is?' she asked.

'The Magisterium is also very happy to deliver the guests you brought to my mansion. Vel won't be happy once she finds them there,' Dorian cuttingly replied. 'And, just in case you are wondering why Vel is not greeting you, you might expend a thought to why you did not greet her.'

The woman gritted her teeth, but managed to keep her voice sweet. 'She is your wife and well above me. Nightingales sing that if she produces you a male heir with rounded ears, you might stand for Archon – I would not dare assert a greeting.' Leliana said. 'She needs to award me the honour of being spoken to, before I speak back. At least that is how we play the grand game in Orlais.'

'I thought you might have noticed this is not Orlais, by now,' Dorian replied, hastening his step and passing her by, in sign that the conversation was over.

Cassandra had moved to the main hall, so Leliana assumed Dorian and Veldrin were supposed to do so as well; for a moment, she excused the cold tone in which he'd uttered the last words for the fact that he had dance steps to perform, yet the ill aging man seemed pressed by something else.

After quickly ascending to the top of the stairs, he touched Veldrin's shoulder and both of them paused. He whispered something in her knife shaped ear.

_Leliana doesn't trust you,_ she imagined he'd said; she could not read his lips, but it seemed like an obvious warning to give, for she did not trust Veldrin at all.

The _new_ Veldrin could not be trusted. The new Veldrin wore diamonds extracted by the blood and sweat of her people, but still spoke of Sylaise.

The _old_ Veldrin could not be trusted. The old Veldrin dreamt of wolves.

_The only reason we ever trusted her was the fact that she could close fade rifts and did so._

There had been no trust in the person who did not have faith in Andraste. There had only been the need for the functionality of a mark upon an arm this woman no longer had a dead man's arm as replacement, and only blood magic could have rendered it useful, thus Dorian Pavus could not be trusted either.

Forgotten by all but the unseen and the unheard, Leliana lingered in the warm glow of the open doorway, but did not step through, thinking it was as good an occasion as any to make the acquaintance of those who'd been appointed to watch her for the night. She did not have to wait long – there was a cup bearer who lingered on the steps although there was none left to serve, and, beyond the archway, a young nobleman in apprentice robes who did not join the bustle around Cassandra. It was rather disappointing, really, and it made her wonder if these were just the front, and more skilled eavesdroppers were waiting for her up ahead.

Not that she had anything to give them – the Magisterium already knew the part of the purpose of her presence, and Veldrin would find out soon enough.

Leliana graced the cup bearer by picking up one of his drinks, and lazily strode inside, in her turn. Not before extending a professional courtesy, however.

'You're being obvious,' she told the elven man; he looked at her in awe, and blushed to the tips of his ears.

'I…I apologise,' he whispered, as she passed him by. Leliana smiled.

It was a wonder that the Imperium had held on to its elves, while southern Thaedas had lost all of them, the woman considered, dispensing only minimal attention to the scene that consumed the room's interest; the Black Divine was even less at ease than Cassandra was, and almost forgot his own position in bowing to her first.

He was a short and stocky man, and he was sweating profusely, as if the many pairs of eyes upon him had genuinely carried fiery heat – his obvious and genuine state of discomfort earned him Cassandra's sympathy, at least. Leliana could tell. Whenever she forgot that she was supposed to act in a certain manner, Divine Victoria regained grace; she could not produce it by design, but she dispensed it without knowing. She shook the man's hand, and offered him a small bow; he was so flabbergasted that he bowed again, in turn, and the two Divines all but knocked each other's tall hats off.

At Cassandra's side, Veldrin and Dorian exchanged an amused glance; the Magister put his arm around his wife's waist, and pulled her close.

The gesture made Leliana forget herself and frown. If one did not know the truth, it was easy to see how their front was believable. The small gestures of affection were seamless, and did not carry the sensation that they had been rehearsed or were, in any way, contrived. He whispered something, she leaned in and whispered back – he laughed at whatever she'd said.

_You won't be laughing for very long,_ Leliana thought, without malice, wisely taking note of the fact that Dorian had an unanticipated capacity for dissimulation – Veldrin truly did not know what awaited her, after the banquet, and if he carried on as he was, she would not even guess that something was coming.

Not trusting Veldrin did not imply Leliana actually disliked her, or wished heartache upon her. On the contrary, Leliana made it a point of mistrusting the people she did like, for they were the most dangerous ones.

_Maker knows all of us liked Solas._

That _,_ Leliana considered, had been a great failure on her part. Veldrin had at least been smitten at first sight – love and attraction were acceptable excuses for those who did not make watching others their trade, though, the spymaster thought, Veldrin could at least not have been so… _easy._ It hardly mattered, now.

Watching out for people one liked had been Leliana's task, and she'd spectacularly failed at it. She would not fail again, and if that implied keeping things secret from friends until they became inevitable, it was a decent price. Dorian certainly had no qualms in paying it.

She winked at the cup bearer, and bid him closer to exchange her now empty glass for a full one; the man looked grateful that he was allowing him so close. Perhaps he would be punished if his masters realised how bad he was at the business of spying.

'Do you like her?' she distractedly asked, knowing that she had just rendered whatever toils awaited the man worse, regretting it, but not allowing herself to let feelings get in her way.

'Who?' the elf asked, his eyes wide.

He, too, was easy.

'The lady Pavus,' Leliana said. 'She is one of the people, is she not?'

'Is she?' the cup bearer asked back. 'I don't see her carrying drinks, my lady.'

He hastily distanced himself from her, but the damage was already done, for Leliana now knew that Veldrin was no more loved by elves here than Briala was in Orlais.

_Must be the diamonds…all the pretty diamonds. Must be the fact that she is introducing Cassandra to the Archon, while he is, indeed, serving drinks._

Like on few occasions in her life thus far, Leliana found herself in need of rising to her toes to catch a glimpse of the scene below.

In a demonstration of who truly was the power in the land, the Archon's appearance had captured all the attention the Black Divine could only hope for if he'd entered the room performing a hand stand, and it was easy to see why.

Archon Radonis was a strikingly handsome man, who, unlike Dorian, was aging very well. Leliana knew he him to be at least sixty, but he looked not a day older than thirty-five, with not a grey hair in sight. The grace of his movements was controlled, but mastered well enough to pass for natural. Unlike Cassandra, this was a man who could play the grand game, and obviously enjoyed it – though Leliana wished the first brush would go differently, her old friend was visibly flustered by the Archon's smile and manner.

Anyone might have been, as one might have expected the leader of the Tevinter Imperium to have lyrium thorns growing out of his skull, or at least have three slaves he was draining of blood in tow. He was nothing of the sort; even from a distance, Leliana could tell his smile was warm, and he casually kept his arm around Veldrin's shoulders as he exchanged greetings with Cassandra.

His relaxed manner did stem from knowing the truth of things, Leliana told herself. He could well be gracious to the Inquisition he'd given political support to, after the events of the Winter Palace, to Veldrin, who'd headed it, and to Cassandra, who'd started it. He also had the certainty that Dorian Pavus would never have a male heir with rounded ears, and that despite his growing influence in the Magisterium, Dorian posed no threat that Radonis would be removed before his time.

Oh, the man could play the grand game – Arl Teagan, envoy of Ferelden, put knee to ground before him as etiquette demanded; Radonis looked rather embarrassed, and offered his arm to help Teagan back up to his feet.

'Ferelden kneels to none, tonight,' Radonis said, causing cheers and claps to erupt all about the room. Leliana too laughed and clapped her hands, not at the words but at the sheer beauty of the performance – this man was not planning to be remembered as the man who'd renounced both Orlais and Ferelden, she thought. This man was planning to bring both Orlais and Ferelden back to the Imperium without shedding a drop of blood.

Not a drop of human blood, in any event.

Elven blood was, and would always be, expendable.

_Change that with your pretty diamonds, Veldrin._

'There's no need for the she-wolf to change it,' the cup-bearer whispered in Leliana's ear. 'The Dread Wolf comes for you all. Another drink, my lady?'

'Don't mind if I do,' Leliana answered, but, by the time she'd turned around, the man had vanished as if he had never been.

Perhaps the elf was not such a terrible spy, after all.

* * *

 

Hey there everyone, just to avoid confusion, this was originally posted at Fanfiction.net under the title Flying Cows.  There is no difference between the texts.    


	2. Fast Friends

 

_Every priest and acolyte of the Choir_

_Turned their hearts and minds as one to_

_Their god's command. For the Word of Silence_

_Could not be ignored, and the fire burning_

_In the heart of the High Priest consumed them_

_As a wildfire consumes plains._

**Silence 1:5**

* * *

'I'll leave you two alone,' Lexi said, gathering sheets to hide his unsatisfied crotch.

'No, Lexi, don't,' Veldrin snarled. 'Anything I have to say to Dorian I can say to you; also, if you leave, I will kill him.'

'Yes, let us not kill me,' Dorian agreed, patting his lover's thigh and standing without sheets to hide his naked body. 'I'm sorry, Vel…'

'The fucking fuck you are sorry, Dorian! Morrigan? You put _Morrigan_ in our house?'

'Technically, the Magisterium and Leliana did,' Dorian said. 'Vel, you would have never agreed to this visitation, thus…'

'Thus you just put Morrigan in our house?'

'Technically, it's my mother's house,' Dorian rightfully pointed out.

'I should really leave the two of you alone,' Lexi noted.

Another man caught in such a position with a lover of the same gender might have felt fear of being reported and brought down by being outed as deviant; Altus Alexius Hadrian felt nothing of the sort. He simply felt like his rapidly wilting erection was truly embarrassing.

'No!' Dorian and Vel shouted at the same time.

'Well, let's get on with the beatings at home that none speak of, then,' Lexi muttered. 'Never mind me, I'll just be on the bed, naked, and wondering who Morrigan is. Put some pants on, Dorian.'

'Yes, Dorian, _do_ put some pants on,' Veldrin hissed.

'Oh, dear. Somehow, I sense both of you are angry at me,' Dorian sighed. 'That is less than auspicious. Just don't throw things at me, in my present defenseless state, you might bruise me…'

'Who _is_ Morrigan?' Lexi asked.

'A dragon,' Veldrin muttered.

'Better watch the porcelain, then,' Lexi shrugged. 'I knew your mansion was large, but a dragon…'

'She is not a literal dragon, Lexi,' Dorian sighed, fastening his breeches.

'I assume not.' the other man sarcastically replied, 'If she were, you might have introduced her to the Archon, and _his_ wife would be having a strop.'

'I am not having a strop,' Veldrin protested.

'Yes, you are, Amata,' Lexi kindly replied. 'Else you would realise dragons are regarded as lovely house pets, in Tevinter.'

'Not this one,' the elf sighed, sitting down and tiredly shaking her head at her husband. 'Of all things, Dorian…'

'I'm sorry, Vel.' He replied, biting his lower lip. 'I did not tell you sooner because it would have ruined your entire evening…'

'And you did need me to play nicely,' Veldrin growled.

'I'm sorry,' Dorian repeated, kneeling by her side – her anger seemed to be spent, so she merely shook her head again, looking thoroughly defeated.

'I hope Leliana made her travel in a barrel,' she huffed, making both men chuckle – sensing that the ill wind had passed, Lexi hopped out of bed and started to get dressed; he'd been slightly too fast to his feet.

'And you!' Vel said, making him cringe and freeze in mid-step. 'You don't really have to return to Quarinus in the morning, do you?'

'If I die, I don't.' Lexi replied, letting his shoulders slump. 'Otherwise, I fear _my_ wife will have a strop loud enough to keep the entire Magisterium awake for a month, then proceed to the ceremonial immolation of my prospective seat.'

'I'm sorry,' she whispered; he chuckled. When she was sad, the tips of her ears literally drooped.

'Maybe I can stay another day, if _you_ invite me in writing,' Lexi said, winking at Dorian. 'Mention the dragon – a threesome with an elf is one thing, but a threesome with a dragon…'

'Be careful what you wish for,' Dorian jokingly warned. 'This is one dragon who has a child allegedly sired by the King of Ferelden…'

Lexi whistled in appreciation. 'The threesome is sounding more and more promising.' He said; even Veldrin cracked a smile.

He gave up on any notion of dressing, and just sat on the side of the bed, questioningly glancing at his lover and his wife. 'No one else is contemplating a threesome, eh?' he ventured.

They most definitely were not.

'Are you sure you trust me enough for this?' Lexi asked, looking Dorian in the eyes; Dorian looked to Veldrin, and she nodded, briefly, yet neither of the two hurried to speak. The burden was once more on him.

'I gather, then,' Lexi thoughtfully began, 'that the stories of rampaging elven gods were more than fanciful inventions designed to get me in the sack.'

'Sadly,' Veldrin sighed.

'Well, that is indeed…less than auspicious,' he said, biting his lower lip. 'I thought it was the most creative thing anyone had made up just for my benefit. Is this creature truly a god?' Lexi asked.

Dorian helplessly shrugged, and sat on the floor at Vel's feet. 'He appears to be, yes,' the Magister said, 'but the application of the term seems somewhat loose – if he is no god, then there are no gods at all. Just extremely powerful, ascended mages.'

'That should get Radonis' fires going,' Lexi said, dryly. 'It also explains his unprecedented, generous behaviour with Orlais and Ferelden; if this elf is an ascended mage, then _we_ were always right in assuming magic is the path to godhood. We simply used the wrong spell.'

'Or you are simply of the wrong race,' Veldrin replied, smirking.

'Or that,' Lexi wisely admitted. 'Maker's breath,' he whispered, 'I heard whispers of this, but I had genuinely assumed they were smoking the wrong spindleweed…'

'It also explains why the two heads of the Chantry are finally coming together,' Vel softly said. 'If Solas created the veil, then there is no Maker, which makes Andraste an exalted lunatic and the Chant of Light a convenient lie.'

Dorian shifted uneasily 'I would not go that far, Vel,' he intervened. 'Think of what you say about the Dalish – the fact that their culture is not based on literal truth does not make it less valid. It's the same with the Chant; perhaps it was not divine inspiration, but it was inspirational, and in the end, that is all that matters.'

'Very convenient if it inspired us to slaughter them, Dorian,' Lexi scolded.

'Let the one elf in the room be progressive,' Dorian muttered. 'Stay on the correct side of the racial divide, will you?'

'I am not being progressive, I am being impartial,' the Altus frowned.

'Under the circumstances, impartial _is_ progressive,' Dorian said, frowning in his turn. 'Why do you think both Leliana and the Magisterium thought keeping things from Vel was a good idea?'

'Because they are unpleasant, elf-hating fools?' Lexi shot back, genuinely feeling irked on Vel's behalf.

'Leliana is not a fool and she is not an elf-hater,' Veldrin said.

'The unpleasantness still needs to be explained,' Lexi replied.

He liked the woman, and he had liked her from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on her; his love affair with Dorian Pavus was two years short of a decade, and he'd met her three years into it. If there had been a moment when he had truly been afraid of losing Dorian, it had been when he'd returned from Orlais with a wife; Lexi had recently married, too, but he'd thought Dorian braver than himself – they had agreed Dorian would not return from the south with the clap, but they'd not agreed anything on wives, thus Veldrin had been an unpleasant surprise.

Until, of course, he'd actually met her, considered her, then genuinely imagined a threesome. Amusing, expressive ears aside, Vel was a _person_ to him…even though she was an elf. He'd never known her as Inquisitor, and she hardly looked stern enough for the title; the thought of her facing unpleasantness truly annoyed Alexis Hadrian.

Deviants, women and elves, he thought, need to stick together.

'You should not take unpleasantness so very lightly, Vel,' he said. 'You should not take being lied to so very lightly,' he added, aiming a reproachful glance at Dorian.

'I am not,' Vel sighed. 'I am here, ruining your night, am I not?'

'I don't mind,' Lexi said. 'There will be many other nights.'

She leaned back in the chair. 'Fucker called me the she-wolf,' she rasped. Dorian looked away.

'Who told you that?' he asked.

'Leliana did,' Veldrin answered. 'She did not say – my, it is nice to see you again. The first words she spoke to me in five years were that an agent of Fen'Harel called me the she-wolf, and that she hoped, for my sake, that I was no longer the she-wolf, because all wolf pelts, male and female, look the same in the dark once separated from the flesh.'

'Then, I come home to find Morrigan,' she followed, 'and also come home to the knowledge that the one person I trust is being as honest to me as the last person I trusted. And you, Lexi, think I am having a strop.'

'A justified strop is still a strop,' Lexi said. 'So, how are we planning to save the world? By fighting a god with a dragon?'

'Worked well the last time,' Dorian shrugged. 'Sadly, Corypheus was certainly not a god, and Solas was there when we did it – we might need to get a tad more creative.'

'And,' Veldrin cuttingly asked, 'am I to be in on this plan, or will you, Morrigan and Leliana plot in the basement, while I knit socks?'

The Magister sighed. 'This was not my choice of action, Vel, and if you must know, it was not Radonis' either; it was Orlais who insisted…'

'Charming,' the elf muttered. 'I see absence has truly not made Leliana grow fond of me.'

'Wasn't Leliana,' Dorian briskly refuted, turning around to look her in the eyes. 'It was Marquise Briala.'

'Briala?' Lexi inquired, frowning. 'What does Empress Celine's sweet-meat have to do with this?'

'No good deed goes unpunished,' Dorian said, reassuringly patting Veldrin's knee. 'Apparently, since the Winter Palace, she has taken a deep dislike to…shall we say, people she perceives to have ascended as she has.'

Veldrin shook her head in dismay – Dorian shrugged. 'Radonis genuinely likes you,' he said, 'and it was sternly made very clear to Orlais that the need for secrecy from you would end once Morrigan was found and delivered to Tevinter, barrel or no barrel. Briala took this to mean you are working Radonis on your back. Or on his back. Or both, and sideways.'

'Delicious,' Lexi chuckled, finding that Vel's ears had suddenly perked. 'So not only is our Vel sleeping with a god, she is also sleeping with Radonis? I am envious of your love life, my dear!'

'If I had one,' the woman sighed. 'I don't think Briala actually believes this manure.'

'But then…' Lexi began.

'But then she doesn't need to believe it to spread it,' Veldrin said, with a quick nod. 'She is not liked by the people in Orlais, while last I looked, I was still a bit of a Divine Herald.'

'The question being which god, of course,' Dorian agreed, 'but drumming up your Tevinter connections can only harm you.'

'Are there any _people_ even left in Orlais?' Lexi asked, arching an eyebrow.

'Very few,' Dorian answered. 'Which is, of course, concerning, but also a blessing in disguise. The elven exodus was the singular proof we have that Solas is, in fact moving, other than Veldrin's word.'

'Which, as we see, does not weigh much with Leliana,' she said.

'No,' Dorian agreed, 'and the fact that Radonis likes you – us both, in fact - is a very sharp double edged sword. Old friends aside, my enemies in the Magisterium become your enemies in the Magisterium, as idiots keep mentioning my name as Archon candidate…'

'And I wake up to Morrigan,' the woman sighed.

'And you wake up to Morrigan,' Dorian said. 'The Magisterium is really rattled, Vel,' he followed, 'and sadly, in my opinion, they are not rattled by Solas.'

'Can't say I blame them,' Lexi shrugged. 'It's hardly like this wolf of yours is creating a massive hole in the sky for all to see and report on. The only thing he is, so far, is a threat to everyone's purses – Maker knows what would happen if the ladies who lunch of Minrathous have to peel their own apples.'

'Eh,' the Magister said, reproachfully eyeing his lover, 'you are really being too flippant. It's not apples, it's fields and orchards and mines; I am unsure how well your estate in Quarinus would fare without slaves, Lexi.'

'Or yours for that matter,' the Altus stung back.

'Very true,' Dorian responded, not taking offence for the natural state of things. 'The mass disappearances of elves in the south have already made us tighten our regulations.'

'With the obvious issue being, of course, how far further you can oppress the people before they rebel,' Veldrin sourly noted.

'We have plenty of experience with that,' Dorian said, dryly.

' _You_ ,' the woman replied, 'have experience of sporadic revolts, not a genuine uprising led by a figure who is regarded as a god. The last time that happened, you lost half of the Imperium and your own gods, and the world got introduced to the questionable blessing of the Chant of Light. Don't get coy.'

'Fen'Harel is hardly Andraste,' Dorian muttered.

'Indeed,' she angrily returned, 'Solas is _hardly_ Andraste, since Andraste was an utterly unremarkable human barbarian with dangerous delusions. Solas, on the other hand is, at least, a very remarkable being with extraordinary powers, a ready-made army _and_ dangerous delusions…'

'…and if you said that to Leliana or Cassandra, in the tone of voice you are using with us now, either would stab you in the throat.' Dorian scolded.

'Do I look like I care? Leliana knows my views on her precious Andraste well enough,' Veldrin said. 'I have not exactly gone out of my way to hide them.'

'He has a point, Vel,' Lexi said, softly. 'These are dangerous times to have opinions that differ from those of the many, especially if you are…'

'An elf? A mage? When is it a not dangerous time to be an elven mage?' she shot.

'A very special elven mage,' the Altus replied. 'I agree with most of what you are saying, but if you say it outside of this room, you'll find that you are not only a she-wolf and Radonis' pillow warmer, but a maleficarum. That Dorian is a maleficarum. That I…'

'Alright,' she said, resting her forehead in her hand; her ears were drooping once more, and Lexi felt sorry.

He stood and wrapped the sheets about his waist. 'Anyone for a drink?' he asked. 'Situation seems to call for it.'

'Would not mind one,' Dorian said, managing half a smile. 'Trouble is, we only have two glasses.'

'That is alright,' Veldrin laughed, 'I'll have the bottle.'

'Those are dangerous words too,' Lexi jokingly warned, as he filled his and Dorian's glasses. 'Just be careful you don't wake up in a Chantry cell, or in bed with this dragon lady.'

'Call the templars now,' Vel hissed, grabbing the wine bottle once it was in her reach, and all but making Lexi lose balance of the trey.

'Oh, Dorian,' the Altus laughed. 'I hope the dog house in which you spent the best part of your youth is still in good condition – I've an intuition you will move in there again as soon as I leave.'

Vel drank three impressive gulps before lowering the bottle.

'If I had had a choice…' Dorian softly said; unexpectedly, she caressed his shoulder and shook her head. In turn, Lexi sat on the floor joining the small huddle.

He did like the woman, he thought. Whether he liked her being so physically expansive with _his_ man was an entire issue altogether – fortunately, as if he'd sensed Lexi's thoughts, Dorian lay down on the floor, putting his head on his lover's thigh, and Vel thought nothing more of her touch. She merely narrowed her eyes and looked at the bottle, obviously trying to see how much wine was left.

'I'm angry at myself,' Vel said, taking another big gulp. 'For not seeing this coming, and also…Also,' she followed, 'I think I sadly remember what you all forgot, and that my first contribution to your planning may not be easy to stomach.'

'Which is?' Dorian asked.

'That whatever solution Leliana and Morrigan think they have, killing Solas…'

'Would hurt you deeply, Amata, and for this I apologise,' the Magister rushed to reassure.

'There is no hiding that it would,' Veldrin softly spoke, 'and I thank you for your understanding, Dorian, but that is not my concern. My concern is the fact that killing him might be a terrible mistake.'

She leaned her elbows on her knees and put the bottle down; in turn Dorian briskly sat up.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'Well,' the woman sighed, still not looking up, 'the essence of Mythal has survived for millennia, and it was the Evanuris who killed her. Solas himself could not kill the Evanuris, he could only banish them, so if we do, physically, kill him…I do not know whether we would truly be stopping him.'

'You are right,' Dorian dryly responded. 'That is not a very relaxation-inducing thought.'

Lexi felt less than alarmed.

'Let's think this panic through, Vel,' he said. 'You are an educated person, you cannot actually think he is immortal.'

'I do not only think he is one, I _believe_ he is one,' Veldrin replied. 'He is one of my gods – an evil one by legend, but still, one of my gods. And that is why I am so unpleasantly surprised by Morrigan's involvement in all this; if anyone knows that that the elven gods, or…'

She paused to have another mouthful of wine, for courage.

'…or indeed, the first of my people, are immortal, it should be Morrigan. She has already killed Mythal's physical shape, and she knows that the physical shape is irrelevant. I even think Mythal took Flemeth's corporeal form to taunt her, and show her she cannot truly be killed.'

'Flemeth?' Lexi asked, frowning.

'Morrigan's _mother,_ ' Veldrin sourly clarified.

'Oi!' the Altus exclaimed, in sincere surprise. 'No wonder the woman is a dragon – if Dorian's mother were an immortal, he'd be the reincarnation of Dumat.'

'And if yours was, you'd be my High Priest,' Dorian smirked, drinking his full glass in one breath. 'Refill, Vel,' he said, stretching his arm out.

'What is this?' she bitterly chuckled. 'Do I look like an elf, to you?'

She nonetheless winked and refilled his glass – to Lexi's surprise, his lover finished the second one in one gulp as well, then, again, stretched his arm out.

'Refill,' Dorian ordered, looking like he had trouble keeping the last glass down.

'Slow down, Amatus,' Lexis said, furrowing his brow in concern.

'That's what I am trying to do,' the Magister sullenly said. 'Because, frankly, I am starting to get ahead of Vel in this, and I do not like where my mind is going at all. If Fen'Harel…I mean Solas,' he apologetically corrected, towards Veldrin, 'is anything like Mythal, then killing him will truly be most unwise.'

'And I am unsure Leliana and the Magisterium will accept that,' Vel sighed. 'Last refill for you,' she warned. 'I need to slow down to the point of snoring, soon.'

'Well,' Dorian muttered, 'there's this little magical chord in our bedroom, and it is tied to a little bell; if you pull it, someone nice miraculously comes upstairs and brings you wine. Get your own; I have some wolves to stave off the door, so to speak.' He ended, with a crooked grin.

Veldrin frowned. 'Such as?'

'Such as the fact that I have the very intimate conviction that Radonis and the Magisterium will only be too happy to keep a defeated Solas alive – which I would be perfectly delighted to accept, if it meant putting him in a gilded bird-cage in your chambers and making him exchange sexual favours for food. Sadly, I don't think that if they have access to an immortal mage, whose knowledge of ancient ascension magic is tremendous and who probably has the location of every world-ending artefact branded in his mind, the Magisterium will prove, eh…Much restraint.'

'That's not a very nice thought at all,' Lexi cringed, emptying his cup, in turn.


	3. The Stolen Key

 

_All knew the Golden Heart of dreams' kingdom_

_Shone like a star, forever out of reach._

_No mortal foot could tread those halls,_

_No hand knocked upon the gate._

_Secrets beyond measure were the keys_

_The Choir of Silence would need, and they had few._

**Silence 1:6**

* * *

Despite her headache, Veldrin's mood significantly improved once she descended to the veranda, to have a breakfast that was closer to the hour of lunch; normally, the lady Pavus made it a point to have the table settings removed, just to show her errant son and his wife that there were still domains where she wielded absolute power, Magister or no Magister, Inquisitor or no Inquisitor.

This morning, however, the Lady Pavus had found a different source of entertainment, and breakfast was still set at half an hour to eleven. The lady herself was still sitting – something utterly unimaginable, if the person she was sitting across the table from had not been Cassandra Penthaghast, the absolutely wrong Divine.

Veldrin could not outright tell what Dorian's mother was needling Cassandra with, and it was quite irrelevant – Cassandra looked…well, she looked rather disconcerted and caught on the completely wrong foot, as she had not even looked when she'd been facing dragons and giants. Because, of course, one could defend oneself against dragons and giants, and be abrupt to companions, yet no such possibility existed against a tiny, dried-up woman, knocking on her seventh decade, who was absolutely determined to poke holes in one's armour. Not with swords or fangs, but with knitting needles.

It was obvious that Cassandra could not get a word in edgeways, and she was on the receiving end of a thrashing such as she'd probably never received in her entire life. She was too polite to interrupt or stand away from the table – so, trapped by her own good manners, she could do naught but fidget and make vain attempts at interrupting the lady Pavus' tirade. In her corner, the lady Pavus looked flushed with delight, and was probably espousing her very considered opinions on everything on how the Divine should never be seen out of her robes, to the fact that having a woman at the head of the Chantry showed exactly why the south was so barbaric and decadent, as all knew women should not carry authority in the public domain, and should be the exclusive keepers of the bloodlines.

Not that there were any bloodlines worth preserving in the south, of course – and yes, Nevarra was south, just in case anyone doubted it. The north was merely an euphemism for civilisation.

Deciding that her old friend had suffered enough, Veldrin bowed her head to disguise a smile and opened the door to the veranda. Cassandra's face lit up with such relief as only the sight of Andraste herself might have surpassed; surprised by the change of expression on her victim's features, lady Pavus looked over her shoulder, and smirked.

'Good morning, _mother,'_ Veldrin said, brightly, then, though the elderly woman's eyes had widened in horror, she leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, causing her to become as stiff as a wooden plank.

'Well, I never!' the lady Pavus exclaimed, in outrage.

She briskly stood, and folded her napkin to gingerly deposit it aside her plate. She then spun on her heels, and departed, slamming the door behind her – the very image of injured dignity.

'Thank the Maker!' Cassandra breathed, slumping in her seat. 'My entire life was flashing before my eyes!'

'Had you started remembering any long-dead relatives you failed to pay homage to?' Veldrin chuckled, circling the table to extend her hand; Cassandra stood, and shook it vigurously.

'I had a grand-grand-grand aunt that sprang to mind, yes.' She laughed, in turn. 'Andraste's mercy, that woman must be descended from harpies.'

'Did you even manage to get a bite to eat?' Veldrin asked, inviting her old friend to regain her seat.

'No,' Cassandra answered, sitting back down, 'but I did get forced to drink something black and very bitter…'

'Ah, coffee!' Veldrin excitedly exclaimed, taking a seat next to the Divine, and reaching for the now cold pot.

'You actually like…that?' Cassandra asked, with a disgusted frown. 'It's the most terrible thing I have ever tasted.'

'Takes some getting used to,' Veldrin said, smiling, 'but then, many things do.'

'Indeed so,' Cassandra nodded. 'I am sorry I came in unannounced,' she began. 'The treaty negotiations will not start until tomorrow, and I did not want to hang about the Argent Spire feeling watched, the entire day. Aren't you eating?' she asked, taking in her friend's pale features with motherly concern. 'Every time I see you, you're thinner…'

Veldrin's stomach growled in protest, revealing the fact that the pallor was in no way due to food deprivation, and Cassandra laughed again, though she tried to give the elf a stern glance.

'You should see Dorian, if he gets up before dusk,' Veldrin innocently shrugged.

'I do not understand what fiendish constitution you two have,' the Divine sighed, 'but I shall admit that mine is no match, and with your permission…'

She gestured towards the barely touched platters.

'Have at it,' Veldrin said, feeling happy that Cassandra didn't stand on ceremony, and truly helped herself to some smoked fish. She looked over her shoulder to a waiting slave. 'You don't have to stand there anymore, Maeris, I think I've scared the lady Pavus out of having lunch downstairs today.'

'Ya sure?' the slave returned, sounding relieved.

'Pretty sure,' Veldrin nodded. 'If you could do me a favour, and have a fresh pot of coffee made for the Magister, you can take off until about dinner time.'

'Cheers,' the other elf said, in a relaxed tone. 'Dontcha want all this stuff collected, though?'

'Can find the kitchen on my own,' Veldrin chuckled, wiggling the tips of her ears. 'It's a racial!'

'Innit,' the servant chuckled; she started for the door, then paused, with her hand on the gilded, elaborate handle. 'What should we do 'bout the other lady?'

Cassandra stiffened and cast a furtive glance to the side.

'Ah,' Veldrin said, 'she'll have to come out and fetch her own food, I fear. Would be nice for her to actually exchange a greeting with her hosts.'

The servant shrugged, and departed without further words. Vel looked at Cassandra though the corner of her eye – it was reassuring to note that the Divine had blushed a little.

'If I could have told you last night, I would have,' Cassandra said, with an apologetic shrug, 'but…'

'But Leliana warned you off it,' Veldrin said, letting a small note of reproach into her voice – to her further reassurance, Cassandra decisively shook her head.

'She did,' the Divine answered, now reaching for a cut of cold beef, 'but contrary to some opinions, I don't always listen to Leliana. I simply got swarmed by a lot of people everyone insisted I _just_ have to meet and speak to, and by the time I even kissed a glass of wine without having to describe my crossing to Minrathous, and be polite about the wonders of the Imperium, you and Dorian had gone. Pretty early,' Cassandra said, arching an eyebrow. 'Never knew you or Leliana to leave a party before there was dancing on tables.'

Veldrin felt safe enough to outright frown; at least Cassandra seemed not to hate her on sight.

'I doubt I, Dorian and Leliana will have any sort of pleasant interlude any time soon,' she said, rather less dryly than she might have liked. 'Myself and her, in particular had a very brief brush in which less than polite greetings were extended…'

Cassandra smiled wryly. 'Less polite than your greeting to me?'

Veldrin laughed, and scratched the back of her head. 'I apologise,' she said. 'It was said to be heard by other ears than yours.'

'I know,' the Divine said. 'Must be good to escape the shadow of the Herald title; I know you squirmed under it. Are you truly not eating?' she asked. 'That black concoction will burn a hole in your stomach.'

'I'll nick something from the kitchen, later,' Veldrin said, decisively shaking her head. 'Makes my _mother_ irate. What is with you, though? You are eating like a wolf, if I dare say so.'

'I am famished,' Cassandra simply responded. 'In this I listened to Leliana, I didn't touch anything last night, at the banquet or in my quarters.'

'Are you sure she did not warn you off _our_ food as well?' Veldrin sourly asked.

The Divine reproachfully glanced at the former Inquisitor. 'No, she did not. Don't take her caution too much to heart, Inquisitor – she is truly rattled by Minrathous, and, well, her trust in overall humanity has taken blow after blow. It is also, admittedly, that…'

She bit her lower lip, and hesitated, before following.

'It is very strange how you managed to survive here, Veldrin. Your mother in law looks at you like you were some sort of poisonous weed; half the room, last eve, whispered of how indecent your hair was, as if you had been showing off your bare bosom. Still, Archon Radonis had his arm around your shoulders when you introduced me, and Leliana's sources say that you might well become the first elven Magister, if…'

'If I and Dorian have a child, yes,' Veldrin sighed, rolling her eyes.

'Fat chance o'that,' Maeris, the servant, said, with a wink; she took the pot of cold coffee out of her mistress' hopeful reach. 'Nay, drink it proper,' she scolded, putting the hot one down. 'Off with me?' she asked.

'Off with you,' Vel nodded, smiling. 'Tell them to wake the Magister if he really sleeps past noontime; if he wakes at five, hair of the dog will gather a wholly different meaning…'

The other elf chuckled knowingly, and nodded. 'Eat something, _lethallan,_ you will catch your death of fasting 'pon sunrise, ya an' the young master. Shem, and children,' Maeris said, shaking her head in Cassandra's direction, as if Cassandra had been the only person who had the capacity to grasp her meaning.

She left, and Cassandra smiled.

'I wish Leliana had seen this,' she said.

'What?' Veldrin frowned. 'Maeris calling me _lethellan_? Or her caring whether Dorian, her owner, eats or not?'

'You,' Cassandra shrugged, getting more smoked fish. 'You are very much still you. And, I gather,' she followed, with less enthusiasm, 'Dorian is still Dorian. There will…there will never be an heir, will there?' she asked, biting her lower lip.

'No, there will not be one,' Veldrin said, drinking her hot coffee and disliking it at least as much as Solas despised tea.

Cassandra took a sip of coffee and smirked horribly at the taste as well.

'I would say something, Inquisitor,' she said.

'This is a democracy,' Vel sighed, knowing what Cassandra would say before she said it.

'You and Dorian have a great, historical chance – he could be Archon, you could be Magister; you could change worlds if only you both let go of that bit of…'

'That bit of everything that makes me into _me_ ,' Dorian said, not merely opening the doors to the veranda, but parting them into seas of different waters. 'Or that bit of everything that makes Vel into Vel – a little personal sacrifice that does not matter to anyone. Oh, why can we not get over ourselves and get on with getting it on? I could just stop preferring men, and Vel could just stop fooling around like she's Dalish or something…Which she obviously is not, since she can read and use a salad fork, as everyone from Halamshiral to the Argent Spire can attest; she's already human, why would having human children be _such_ a jump? Those tiny, little sacrifices we could make to change Tevinter…'

'…Together.' Cassandra said, softly.

'Coffee,' the man groaned, crashing in his seat, across from his wife, and pushing the plates forward to rest his forehead on the table. He grasped the cup Veldrin gave him in blind. 'Good morning, _Mother Giselle_ ,' he sighed. 'I missed you _so_ much.'

'Your glib tongue still does you no credit, Dorian,' Cassandra replied, with a little disapproving frown.

'And my mother's capacity for seeing me as a perpetual five year-old seems infections even after limited exposure,' he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing with pleasure. 'I take it you have met my mother, yes?'

'Indeed,' Cassandra answered. 'It was a mercifully short acquaintance, though probably informative – I might bump hats with your Divine, but I assume your mother's feelings in my regard are what most of the Imperium thinks, yet will not voice.'

Dorian chuckled. 'I am glad for your clarity, and you are very correct, but it is not only your title that inspires such loathing. It is you, personally, for having dared marry us – if you had not, she might have defeated me by exhaustion.'

'To be honest,' the Divine softly said, 'when you two spoke of marriage, I understood the context very well, and I appreciated your courage. The fact that I knew you would break your vows as you made them did not make me very comfortable, yet… I had still hoped that if you understood one political gesture for what it was, you would go through and complete it, as many other politically significant couples do.'

'Oh,' Veldrin said, with a giggle, 'so you are dispensing the same advice to Empress Celene, I gather? I mean, Briala is nice on the side, but, you know, a clean line of inheritance for the throne of Orlais is of far greater importance to the continent than the line of House Pavus, right?'

'I would,' Cassandra earnestly shrugged, 'but she is too old for child bearing.'

'While we still have three decades at least to be subjected to the dryly grinding millstones of the small-minded, eh?' Dorian muttered.

'Thirty years, Dorian?' Vel laughed. 'Aren't you flattering yourself just a tad?'

'Not at all,' the man answered, looking more lively as he finished his first cup and reached for a second. 'My grandfather had the last of my uncles when he was five and seventy.'

'Is this the uncle with the wonky eye?' the elf queried, arching an eyebrow.

'He also drools in his soup, but he is a Pavus,' Dorian replied; Cassandra's glance softened.

'I did not mean to blunder into your lives, iron boots and tall hat and all,' she sincerely said. 'It is just that I have seen people who actively hated each other who managed to visit each other's bed once a month. You two are as thick as thieves, and yet…'

Veldrin exchanged a glance with her husband – it was odd, she thought. They had been weathering this speech for years, and most of those who insisted upon having their say on the matter did not wish the couple ill. She'd seen that years ago, in Redcliffe, even before Dorian himself had, and she had understood it more and more after she'd joined him in Minrathous.

For however misguided his actions, Halward Pavus had loved his son and had simply meant to make his path…not even in the Magisterium, but in life – easier. If anyone in the House was truly, deeply ashamed of Dorian's proclivities, it was his mother, who could truly not see past them…Past what she probably perceived as _her_ mistake, either in upbringing or, even more terrifyingly, as a fault in her blood.

It was this simple notion that kept Veldrin from hating the old woman, despite the fact that in duels of words, she gave as good as she got. The Gods only knew what it must have felt like to be bred for one purpose, one task only, and then to so utterly fail at it, after an entire existence of miserable sacrifice.

'I did not mean to…' Cassandra offered, awkwardly but warmly patting Veldrin's hand.

'You didn't,' Dorian said. 'It's just a song we hear constantly in a choir of voices – at least you're singing it with some knowledge of who we actually are. But, Cassandra,' he followed, looking very serious, as he not often did, 'whether one has intercourse, with whom, and with what results is not a legitimate political promotion criterion in my eyes. Thaedas may feel entitled to sneak a peek in the beds of their kings and queens, but the Imperium is, at least on a declarative level, a parliamentary democracy.'

'One in which you are both handicapping yourselves,' the Divine said, softly; she sounded unsure of herself, which was probably why, Veldrin considered, Dorian did not grow as vitriolic at the discourse as he normally did. Or maybe it was not that – maybe he was happy enough with all that he had to stop fighting battles he would obviously never win.

He was still not overly inclined to mince words. 'Very well, your worship,' he said, smiling brightly. 'We'll have a child when the Southern Chantry starts introducing virginity checks for new sisters. Reasonable timeline, no?'

Cassandra rolled her eyes. 'The reason why people mistake you for a five-year old is because you sometimes _do_ go out of your way to behave like one, Magister. As you wish, then; let it not be said I did not at least attempt it.' she said. 'I am awful at political machinations,' she sighed.

'Just a bit transparent,' Veldrin said, smiling. 'You still say what you mean to say, how you mean to say it.'

'That's not necessarily a good thing, Inquisitor,' the Divine answered. 'I have to admit that I am even mentioning this because I am not liking the road ahead; Celene truly does not have an heir, and you, in your great and somewhat ill-advised mercy, let Gaspard live. He has heirs, and they have supporters... Ferelden is equally unstable in its line of succession – Queen Anora does have three children, but all the world whispers they are not the King's. Once either of them passes, there will be turmoil, and I am not shy in saying that I would rather have at least a chance of an Archon who'd not pounce on the opportunity.'

'In other words,' she ended, 'I am not thinking about your bedchamber, I am thinking about Thaedas. I wish you had not crushed the Qun _that_ decisively,' Cassandra sighed, being altogether too honest, and making Veldrin laugh.

'It's not like we invaded Par Vollen,' the elf said. 'They'll be back in thirty years, worry not.'

'Besides,' Dorian picked up, 'I don't know if you managed to have a good look at the state of this, our _glorious_ capital, but I promise you that if Iron Bull were to magically appear in Three Imperators Square and jump up and down twice, the entire city would physically crumble. We're hardly in a position to wage war on anyone. Especially on friends and allies,' he ended, with a thin smile.

The Divine shook her head. 'I am unsure Radonis sees it _quite_ that way, Dorian. In fact, I am unsure of anything that Radonis thinks…'

'I truly do love you, Cassandra,' Dorian laughed, with no ill will. 'I am very sure many share your predicament in what regards Radonis' thought processes. The one thing we will tell you, however,' he followed, reaching across the table to take Veldrin's hand, 'is that he would not think much of us telling you what we think he thinks.'

'We can assure you that it is not war,' Veldrin added, looking Cassandra in the eyes. 'At least not for now, and at least now how you would conventionally define it.'

'I see,' the former Seeker grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. 'I should really leave this game stuff to Leliana,' she huffed, 'though let me tell you, the amount of _we_ I am hearing would sting her twice more than it does me.'

Veldrin shrugged. 'Shared adversity is the mother and father of all common pronouns, Cassandra. We've not had an easy time here, and servants checking our sheets for stains or nobles being outraged at my ears are but the surface of it all. You'd not have had your Inquisition…'

'Last I looked, it was our Inquisition,' the Divine responded, briskly.

'But it is gone,' the elf shrugged, not knowing that the tips of her ears were lowered in sadness. 'If I were you, my old friend, I would not hold much hope for the peace treaties we're labouring on now to last, because they will not. It doesn't even have to be the Imperium – do you genuinely think that if an offshoot of Gaspard ascends to Celene's throne after she is gone, and Ferelden has a long war of succession, the Orlesians won't jump?'

Cassandra smiled, sadly. 'You've grown cynical, Vel.'

The elf looked aside and took a deep breath. 'Merely too old, too fast. The Inquisition is gone…'

'You dissolved it,' Cassandra answered, reproachfully.

'Yes, well, I missed Arl Teagan's head once; I am unsure it might have been wise for me to have a chance at a re-take,' Veldrin said, 'because I promise you, I do not miss twice. I was tired and hurt, and I truly wanted nothing more to do with the Chantry – especially not with Vivienne elected Grand Enchanter.'

'By the vast majority of the small minority of mages she even recognises as peers,' Dorian chuckled, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast.

The Divine rolled her eyes. 'Yes,' she muttered, 'If Vivienne could revert to the way in which magic was handled after the very first Blight, she would, and that is giving me no end of headaches. She will provoke another Kirkwall, if she keeps going as she is.'

'So, there,' the elf followed, picking up a small desert fork and beginning to draw arcane patterns with it on the table cloth, 'my choice was a bit obvious. Thaedas only adored me as long as I _was_ the Herald of Andraste. I am no such thing, I never was such a thing, and I did not wish to wear that mask for a single moment longer than I had to. Once I shed it, though, I returned to being a non-circle elven mage. Thaedas hates both parts of who I am; the Imperium only hates one, and at least they have the decency to hate me to my face.'

Cassandra shook her head. 'I never let myself think you felt that way, nor did we ever think ill of you, Vel – neither I, nor Cullen, nor Josie. Nor Leliana, in her heart of hearts.'

Veldrin narrowed her eyes. 'We'll see,' she said, rather more coldly than she'd intended, decisively setting the fork down, in perfect alignment to the rest of the rest of the cutlery, as if squaring the entire conversation to the side. Cassandra shook her head in confused sorrow.

'What did happen with Leliana, last night?' the Divine asked.

'Morrigan happened,' Dorian responded, dryly. 'Not to mention some uncharacteristically off the cuff remarks about wolf pelts of whatever gender…Speaking of which,' he cheerfully switched discourse, 'where _is_ Morrigan? I am pretty sure she didn't join our enchanting debauchery last night, but then, I blacked out before dawn, so…' he added, just for the pleasure of watching Cassandra pale.

'Maybe she decided she prefers the barrel she travelled in to our company,' Vel said, cranking her nose. 'I certainly haven't seen her.'

To the elf's surprise, Cassandra lowered her glance. 'I am unsure of whether this is good or bad news to you, Veldrin,' she said, slowly, 'but Morrigan is under _very_ strict orders not to speak with either of you if Leliana is not present.'

'Say again?' Dorian asked, briskly leaning forward; if his ears had been pointed, Vel thought, they might have visibly perked. As was, his moustache bristled, and Cassandra shifted uneasily.

No wonder, Veldrin thought, biting her lower lip. None of _them_ had seen him serious or angry, and he was on the verge of becoming _very_ furious now.

'That is perhaps best left for Leliana to explain,' Cassandra replied, to her credit, not sounding intimidated.

'No, your worship,' the man said, his polite tone radiating cold. ' _You_ explain it, because I am beginning to feel played. I have kept my part of my agreement with yourself and Leliana, but this is as far as it goes.'

'You're off the mark, Dorian,' Cassandra sternly said, cutting him off, and visibly growing angry in her turn. 'It's not _you_ that Leliana wants to watch. It's Morrigan.'

'And why, pray tell?' the Magister insisted.

'Because,' the Divine hissed, 'while the travelling in a barrel might be an exaggeration, I assure you Morrigan did not come here of her own accord, and the persuasions she was subjected to were rather less than gentle.'

* * *

Ah, and...minor greetings and salutations, Abstract & IVIaedhros here. We're a bit far from our regular playing field here, but those who might already know us from our normal haunts probably suspect that things are about to get pretty dark very soon. For those of you just getting to know us, well...Things are going to get pretty dark, very soon :)

Thank you for reading and commenting :)


	4. Of a Deviant and His Pet Elf

_And so the First Acolyte spoke to the High Priest_

_And said: 'We are the masters of secrets,_

_But our god demands more. Let us to the Builders_

_Whisper, and they who construct monuments to the glory_

_of the gods shall build us a road to the Golden City,_

_Where your promise shall be fulfilled._

**Silence 1:7**

* * *

Magister Cassius sneezed, then, taking advantage of the fact that Archon Radonis was thoughtfully gazing out the window, cast a hate-filled glance to the lavish armchair where Radonis' two favourite cats slept, in a bundle of evil, nostril-invading, skin irritating and robe destroying fluff.

One of the creatures sensed him. It opened one mocking, emerald green eye and yawned, threatening to stand up – under normal circumstances, Cassius did not consider himself Andrastian, but any visit to Radonis' private study made him fervently pray that the blasted _things_ would not get overly friendly. As if further proof of the fact that there was no Maker were needed, the cats were exceptionally fond of him and rarely missed an opportunity of manifesting their overflowing affection.

The two, to whom Cassius hatefully thought of as Dumat and the Bride of Dumat were of a very rare and precious Antivan breed – one that actually liked swimming. Radonis, who'd gone to great lengths to acquire them, took pleasure in explaining that they had a triple layered coat of fur…Which, to the Magister's terrified mind, only translated as _even more fur._ And they were not even pretty, Cassius considered. They were grey as rats, had sharp faces, and looked permanently famished, despite the fact that the Archon reputedly spent a fortune on feeding them.

Any thought of escaping their company was vain hope, however, even when Radonis was in a good mood. Today, he was manifestly not; Magister Cassius attempted to hold in another sneeze. He failed.

'Do get that sorted,' Radonis said, turning around with a bright smile. 'It is irritating in the extreme.'

'Yes, your grace,' Cassius sighed. 'I have tried the herbal tea your grace recommended, sadly, to no avail…'

'There's always blood magic,' Radonis put in. 'If you can even perform it, of course,' he added.

Anyone who'd not known him for a lifetime might have taken the words for light jest; to Cassius, who'd been Radonis' apprentice since he was sixteen, the phrase sounded exactly like what it had been, however.

A sting.

Perhaps even a threat.

'I have apologised to your grace already,' the Magister said, not bothering to keep his own irritation in check because he knew all too well that Radonis would have sensed it anyway. 'We have attempted to have ears in the House Pavus multiple times, and every time, our attempts have failed, due in no small measure to the unprecedented leeway _you_ grant Magister Pavus and Inqui…Magistra…the lady Pavus.' He corrected, at the last moment, congratulating himself for the fact he'd not outright blurted the words that were on his mind.

_The deviant and his pet elf._

Radonis sat, but did not invite the other man to sit, in turn.

'I dealt you an ace, I deal him an ace,' the Archon said, calmly. 'The rest of the cards in your respective hands are your own, and you decide how to play them.'

'Indeed, your grace, but you have dealt him an elf that their house slaves regard as the second coming of Andraste,' Cassius protested. 'How do you expect me to infiltrate…'

'I don't expect any specific course of action, Cassius,' Radonis sighed, sounding deeply aggrieved. 'I expect information. Should you require pointers as to how, exactly, that is to be accomplished, I believe Sister Nightingale is visiting us – perhaps she could aid you? I am hopeless at these details, as they do not present any particular importance to me.'

The man was being nothing but honest, the Magister thought, looking away, and knowing his patron enjoyed the frustration he was causing as much as his cats enjoyed making people sneeze their lungs out.

In great irony, it was precisely Radonis' honesty that made him so unpleasantly unreadable. He was neither a reformer, nor a traditionalist, and had balanced the two currents in the Magisterium by playing them against each other for his entire tenure, not allowing either enough ballast to actually upset the ship. Where others might have mistakenly thought that the favour he showed Pavus was part of the same game, one that was intended to keep Archon candidates that had previously felt secure of their footing on their toes, Cassius understood it was anything but. If the deviant and his elf played a better hand, they'd win – the dark horse of unthinkable reforms was truly in the race, and those who dismissed the notion as folly were doing so at their own peril.

'We shall not spare efforts,' Cassius evenly said. 'In the meanwhile,' he followed, trying to bring the conversation to more auspicious territories, 'if I may direct your grace's attention to the notes regarding the negotiations with Ferelden…'

'I do not know why you bothered,' Radonis said. 'I shall give them everything they request, but for sizeable reparations. I shall give them symbolic ones, though – do we still have embers from Andraste's pyre or are we all out of holy relics?'

'All out,' the Magister muttered.

'Make some more, then. Wrap them nicely. Solid gold urn should do.' The Archon distractedly ordered. 'Don't present them to the Divine, however, she seems like a woman with her wits about her – give them to the gentleman from Ferelden, he will faint in awe…'

'Your grace,' Cassius said, gritting his teeth, 'I advise against such concessions, even if they are only symbolic. The Magisterium…'

'…parts of the Magisterium,' Radonis helpfully corrected, sapping his former apprentice's momentum. 'Go on,' he said, knitting his fingers on the table before him. 'What do parts of the Magisterium want?'

'We,' Cassius said, renouncing all notions of sounding impartial, and speaking with the voices of all he well knew would sustain him in case of need, or protect him in case of danger, 'do not approve of the way in which you are surrendering our legacy. Peace with Orlais, now, peace with Ferelden...Acquiescence of the Sunburst Throne…'

'You, and _parts_ of the Magisterium do realise that the fact that we have not previously acknowledged the Sunburst Throne did not erase it from existence? It is akin to you and my cats – you refuse to look their way, but they still make you retch. If they were invisible, you would still retch. Why not admit they are here?'

'The doctrine of the Southern Chantry is incompatible with ours,' the Magister bravely shot.

'There is only one Maker,' Radonis agreeably contradicted, 'and Andraste, his bride, said magic exists to serve man. As long as we do not descend into the specific semantics of _how_ magic should serve man, there is no cause for disagreement or unpleasantness between our provinces.'

'Your grace is rigging the contest against everything that Tevinter represents,' the Magister said. 'Our concerns are justified.'

'Or,' Radonis said, smiling, 'you are completely deprived of any vision, and lack faith in the human qualities of our southern brothers.'

'Qualities such as?' Cassius tiredly inquired.

'Ambition, Magister, ambition,' the Archon scolded. 'How long have we been at war with the south? It's been centuries…And, during that time, what influence have we had over their Circles? I shall tell you: precisely _none_ , because, in their isolation, they have been taught to fear themselves and magic. The southern way for mages is that either they surrender themselves to prison, or they are, a priori, wanted criminals. Do you, and… _parts_ of the Magisterium imagine that this state of things will continue, once _our_ way is demystified?'

The Magister sighed. 'I doubt exposure will cure centuries of indoctrination, your grace.'

'Not in a year, no,' Radonis replied, resting his chin on his palm and thoughtfully gazing at his former pupil. 'But in a decade, it well might…You see, Cassius, the thing that I and your friends in the Magisterium fundamentally disagree over is what actually defines an empire. You think it all lies in the name, and in the borders, perhaps in the banners. I think it lies in shared prosperity and a common culture; after centuries of war, we are, sadly, in dire need for some prosperity, and we have plenty of cultural advances to deliver…why are you not sitting? You are standing on my nerves.'

Cassius sighed once more, and sat the one free armchair before the Archon's desk, keeping a wary eye on Dumat and his bride. 'Perhaps,' he reasoned, feeling somewhat relieved, 'if your grace explained your intentions in these terms…'

'Oh?' Radonis replied, frowning for the first time. 'Would you like me to make a speech on the matter on the Senate floor? We've not stopped the gears of conquest, merely shifted them - should I include that in a communique to Empress Celene and King Alistair Therein? I dislike the fact that I even had to explain it to _you,_ but I see that it was sadly necessary, and I trust that you will set the minds of your friends in the Magisterium at ease as soon as you depart…And now,' the Archon said, dryly, 'I have dealt you another ace. See how you play it.'

'Does Dorian Pavus know all this?' Cassius asked.

'As does his charming wife,' the Archon replied. 'And neither of them needed to be outright _told._ You are, in so many ways, a great disappointment,' he followed, shaking his head. 'You've been at my side for two decades, and you still cannot understand my design…'

'Your grace's reasoning leaves me hopelessly confused, that is true,' the Magister said, dryly. 'If you have found such kindred spirits in Magister Pavus and his charming elf, I see no reason why I am toiling to know what they are thinking and doing.'

'I am a thoughtful man,' Radonis responded, smiling. 'I like to know what my friends are thinking and doing, so that in case they have a need for anything, I can pre-empt them having to ask for that need to be filled. Further, I try to understand their needs – for instance, Veldrin Lavellan does not strike me as a woman who overly grooms herself. She is more, shall we say, a wild beauty?'

'She is an elf,' Cassius sneered.

'A wild and fierce beauty,' Radonis sighed, 'and a woman of enough spirit to entice a living god. Why then, do you think, would her friends in the former Inquisition go through the trouble of bringing her a mirror so tall and wide that they needed to have a special, sixteen wheeled cart constructed for the purpose of delivery?'

'Perhaps it was intended as a gift for Magister Pavus,' Cassius said, congratulating himself for not showing surprise, yet inwardly berating himself.

It was no wonder Radonis was in a foul mood, the Magister thought, admitting to himself that on this particular occasion he perhaps deserved Dumat's attentions. He even considered picking up the creature and stroking it, in an offering of sincere self-flagellation. If she'd snuck a sixteen wheeled cart into the country, Sister Nightingale was beating him bloody already.

'I'd not considered that possibility, thank you, Cassius,' the Archon said, his smile frozen on his features. 'It is a perfectly logical explanation, as Magister Pavus is a tad vain; I'd also not considered the possibility that it is an ironic gift for his mother, so she can watch herself age from all angles. Just in case though,' Radonis snarled, baring his canines and finally showing his anger, 'could you do me the kindness of verifying which bedroom of the Pavus mansion that mirror was to be installed in? Before I fully give up on you and ask Magister Pavus?'

Cassius lowered his glance, and beheld his own clenched fists.

'How long will you give me?' he bitterly inquired.

'Take all the time in the world,' Radonis said, reverting to his light and warm tone of voice. 'I'll make the negotiations with Ferelden last the whole of three days, while I figure out how I shall deal with the Mabari puppy they have gifted me with. I am…not very fond of dogs,' he muttered affectionately glancing at his Antivan water rats. 'I shall pass it on to you – what do you think?'

The Magister shuddered. Dogs, he thought, were not only covered in fur. Dogs drooled.

'It is too generous a gift,' he plaintively responded.

'See that you earn it,' Radonis replied.

* * *

All things considered, Veldrin thought, gazing upon Morrigan's tired and drawn features, not having children presented so many advantages that it was a wonder people still had them. That, and well…

Compared to what Morrigan was suffering, her own brush with Leliana had been a tender caress – Veldrin had never liked the witch of the wilds, but she did feel a tremendous amount of sympathy; no one, not even Morrigan deserved to have their children used against them. The fact that Leliana had planned and ruthlessly executed such a plan, furthermore, the fact that Cassandra had approved it pointed to the fact that much indeed had changed in both women.

And not for the best.

_If I've grown cynical, they've grown brutal,_ Veldrin thought, feeling a twinge of bitter irony at the realisation that of all those present, the _she-wolf_ and the Tevinter Magister were the only ones who disapproved of the fact that Morrigan's son was being held by Grey Wardens. The method had as much subtlety as an executioner's axe, and it was obvious that one was hanging above the young man's neck. It was true, Morrigan could probably not have been persuaded to involve herself otherwise, yet…

Dorian had not said anything – neither had Veldrin, for that matter – but, to his wife's eye, his entire posture screamed disapprobation; he'd been so stunned by everything that he'd barely arched an eyebrow at the mention of Weisshaupt.

It all made Veldrin wish that she had been the one to drink of the Vir'Abelassan, and that Morrigan would not have been needed…Though, she thought with a little shudder, who knew what suspicions she'd be under, and what method of persuasion Leliana might have picked for her, had things not unfolded as they had.

She looked to Cassandra, and barely refrained from shaking her head in disappointment; the plan had been laid out, and there was no true fault with it, but for…

'Are we actually giving this _child_ a choice?' Dorian blurted, darting to his feet; Morrigan, who'd also kept quiet as Leliana spoke looked at him in surprise and gratitude.

'No,' she whispered. 'No.'

'He is not a child,' Leliana coldly responded, measuring the man from head to toe, and obviously finding him lacking. 'He is…'

'He is seven and ten, hence a child,' Dorian snarled. 'If he was of Tevinter, he'd not be allowed to decide what he wants to wear for dinner.'

'Then, he is not being given a choice because he can't possibly make one,' Sister Nightingale replied. 'Either way, Dorian…'

'Either way,' Veldrin interrupted, 'what you have done here is despicable, Leliana. I can't believe I am saying this, Morrigan,' she followed, turning to the witch, 'but I am desperately sorry that this is happening to you.'

The witch lowered her glance and nodded. 'The irony is, of course,' she softly spoke, 'that Kieran might have helped you of his own accord. 'Tis a good heart that has grown in him.'

'It's not his heart that is of interest to me, but his _soul,_ ' Leliana said. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, and finally sat down, behind Dorian's desk; she wistfully glanced at the shimmering, magically warded door, as if seeking to make sure that any manifestation of humanity on her part would truly not leave the chamber and mar her reputation. 'This was not an easy decision,' she sorrowfully said.

'We had no choice,' Cassandra added, looking to the tips of her boots. 'You left us none, Morrigan,' she added, slowly shaking her head. 'You did everything you possibly could to evade us.'

'Yes,' Dorian sneered. 'I wonder why one would do that, your worship. It is not like you are the type of people one would wish to avoid, like say, the kind that holds children to ransom. Why, if I was in her position, I'd surrender to your tender mercy bound and gagged.'

'Judge me as you will,' Leliana sighed. 'The boy is safe, and he is being treated well.'

'For no other reason than that you need him,' Veldrin muttered.

'Well, Veldrin, if you have knowledge of another vessel of an Old God that we do not know of, I am willing to listen to options,' Cassandra sighed.

'He no longer is that,' Morrigan whispered. 'Flemeth…Mythal took that from him almost a decade ago – he is just a boy. He is a good, kind boy.'

Leliana did not raise her glance at the plea, and Veldrin bit her lower lip in anger. It did not matter that the young man might have been a good and cheerful lad; the only thing that did matter was the fact that he could truly contain a divine essence, and in this, he had no more relevance than an empty bottle or an empty coffer.

'Alright, Leliana,' she sighed. 'Let us say you do get the genie out of Solas, and into Kieran. What happens to him, then? Do I need to even mention that he will then become not only the container of Urthemiel but also that of Mythal? Isn't that a bit much for a seventeen year old to handle?'

'You handled your mark well,' Leliana answered, finally lifting her glance to Veldrin's. 'And you were not meant to bear it. Who were you, when you received it? A little elven mage, sent in to spy on the Divine.'

'Maker's balls,' Dorian exploded, 'the wheels of time are rolling backwards! Poor, misguided Alexius, he did not realise he did not need a spell to re-write history, he simply needed to hire you!'

'While the events at the Conclave are now very clear, no one has explained why a non-circle mage was present there in the first place,' Leliana calmly answered.

'For the one hundred thousandth time,' Veldrin sighed, in exasperation, 'I was returning a book to one of the mages…'

'Shut up, Vel,' Dorian shot. 'Everyone knows elves can't read, and like to sneak about finding ways to assassinate religious figures, when they are not sneaking about burning villages, as the events of Red Crossing clearly show; your guise is thin. Better stick to the cover story we spent ten years concocting, and just say you were there to serve soup.'

'This is leading us nowhere,' Cassandra intervened.

'But I do so enjoy a circular argument,' the man said, looking at the Divine in open fury.

'That might well be, Dorian,' she sighed, 'but it is really not useful. What is done is done, and it was _not_ done with a light heart. Truly, think what you will, but do start thinking.'

The Magister sat back down, and breathed in and out, deeply and purposefully – Veldrin felt naught but the need to embrace him, then, but a second later, remembered that she could. She stood from her chair, and sat at his feet, gracefully gathering her dress about herself before leaning her forehead on his knee.

'Can your son even do this?' she tiredly inquired, finding that the fact he'd placed his hand on her shoulder gave her enough courage to meet Morrigan's glance. The witch sighed, and bit her lower lip.

'He cannot,' she said. 'But I can; Flemeth's grimoire would have been sufficient for me to know how to channel an essence from body to body. The voices of Vir'Abelasan tell me how to refine the process, though,' Morrigan whispered, 'they warn me against it…I wish you had drunk of that well, Inquisitor. I do not know why you did not. Your _vallaslin_ is that of a follower of Mythal, you could have…'

_…taken this cup from me._

'I was still only First,' Veldrin answered. 'I did not feel worthy; besides, Morrigan, she was thought to be dead. Even my Keeper sought to discourage this particular blood writing, and wished that I would take Sylaise's marking instead, as, according to him, I am a peace maker and I don't have a single vengeful bone in my body. He was wrong.' the elf said. 'He didn't suspect that we still grow bones even after we're of age. In fact, I've grown most of my bones after I left home…Fortunately for him,' Veldrin said, with grim cheer, 'he was killed before he could learn he was wrong. I should have been braver. I am sorry, Morrigan.'

'I am not,' Leliana said. 'It might have made your already questionable attachments even more questionable.'

_When the time comes_ , Veldrin thought, feeling all of her bones grow in the silence that followed, _I will hurt you. If you are still capable of love, I will find the one thing that you love and destroy it. I will not even take pleasure in it. It will simply be…justice._

'Does Mythal have no hold over you, Morrigan?' Dorian asked.

'Her entire strength has been taken into Fen'Harel,' the witch carefully answered. 'I can feel her – 'tis a tug, a tickle, a scratch at the door in the dark night, yet it's naught but her will and her consciousness. He now has all of her power, and while she can make her wishes known, she has no means to enforce action.'

'Can we not spare your son the agony?' Veldrin inquired. 'If you can channel the essence, you could channel it into me.'

'No,' Cassandra said.

'It would kill you, Vel,' Dorian unexpectedly agreed. 'The mark was killing you. If Solas had not taken your arm, you'd not be here. And I like you being here more than you know.'

'Kieran can contain both essences,' Leliana dryly said.

'Kieran is seven and ten; I am three and forty,' Veldrin said. 'I've lived, I've hoped. I've loved and dreamed. I've walked the beyond – the beyond is not so bad.'

'That is not the problem, Inquisitor,' Morrigan said. 'I cannot know if even my son can hold both, and for how long…'

'The entire purpose of this exercise is to take away Solas' powers, while containing all three essences,' Leliana added. 'We do not want the…the child to die, and have Mythal's full powers return to the fade. That would be...counterproductive.'

'Aren't we forgetting the obvious, though?' Dorian asked. 'Let us assume that this will function as intended, and we will place all this immense energy in the hands of an innocent who would not use it for harm even if he knew how to; let us further assume that, in the course of his natural life – in a tight box, in Weisshaupt…yes, Leliana? – he does not learn how to use it, and Maker forbid, develop some utterly unexplainable spiteful intentions. The young man is still human. He will, eventually, die.'

'That was my thought as well,' Veldrin nodded. 'Even if Kieran lives another seven decades, his years would be a drop of water in an ocean for a being like Mythal.'

Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a glance. 'We've considered that,' the Divine said, slowly. 'Mythal is not the one who intends to tear down the veil. Fen'Harel is, and he will remain in Solas' form, which, for all we know, is immortal in our meaning of the word.'

Veldrin sighed, thinking that not even small mercies were mercies in the end – she'd not had to explain why Solas should not be killed. The thought of him somehow imprisoned forever was equally painful, however, and she'd not allowed herself to truly contemplate the notion thus far.

She had to, now.

'How do you plan…' the elf began asking, finding that her words would not obey her to the end. 'You will put Kieran in a box in Weisshaupt,' she willed herself to say. 'Where will you place Solas' box?'

'As far away from any elven ruin as possible,' Leliana off-handedly replied.

'And they are sure as hell they will not tell _us_ where,' Dorian muttered.

'Veldrin, I…' Cassandra apologetically began.

'You will agree it is a necessary precaution, I am sure,' Leliana interrupted.

'Very necessary,' Veldrin nodded; for all the fury she felt, her voice had been remarkably bland. 'I understand. The only thing I do not understand is _why_ you are here, and why you have even bothered to inform me of your plans, if…'

'They had no choice with that, either,' Morrigan said, a twinge of cold satisfaction in her voice.

'How so?' Veldrin asked.

'They cannot capture Fen'Harel in Thaedas,' the witch answered, with a little crooked smile. 'Do you remember all those elven artefacts you busily ran around activating, at Solas' behest?'

'Yes,' Veldrin shrugged. 'They were meant to…'

_Strengthen the veil._

'Oh crap,' Dorian said, catching on at the same time. 'They work both ways.'

'Exactly,' Morrigan nodded. 'They can weave the veil thick, but also spin it as fine as a spider's web, thus he can physically jump in the fade whenever he so wishes, even without an eluvian. 'Tis my belief that this is how he has gathered his people, as well, for not all elves would willingly follow the Dread Wolf. If he controls the veil, though, he controls their dreams, and…'

'And he is doing to the people exactly what the Evanuris did, before he sealed them away,' Veldrin whispered.

_Oh, Vhenan,_ she thought. _This is what you did not wish me to see…That you would enslave the very people you killed to free. That, in the end, you've become the very thing that you hated._

'Had we known about this sooner,' Leliana stingingly said, 'we might have tried to prevent it, but most of the damage was done before we had even learned of Fen'Harel, and we were still focused on the Qun. Once we did realise the truth, it was too late.'

'It also explains why the elves in Tevinter stayed put,' Dorian reasoned, biting his lower lip. He bitterly chuckled. 'And to think the Magisterium spent five years congratulating ourselves on how good a hold we had on our minions, eh.'

'It is also why, if we seek to entrap him, it needs to be in Tevinter,' Cassandra tiredly put in. 'For better or worse, the veil is still solid here, or, at the very least, not under his direct control.'

'While I am needed because every trap needs a bait, right?' Veldrin shot.

'No,' Leliana sighed. 'You are needed because Cassandra insisted we cannot do this to you without at least warning you of it.'

'Thank you, your worship,' the elf sneered; Divine Victoria shook her head in sorrow. 'The fact that you could not possibly hide this from _us_ did not even occur to you, we are sure.'

'Which brings me to another delicate point that we are gracefully dancing around, like so many elves in a dewy meadow,' the Magister said. 'How much does Radonis know? I am sure I do not need to explain to you that allowing him to get his hands on whatever box you plan to put Solas in would be very, very bad.'

Leliana lowered her glance, and allowed herself to smile. 'Well, Dorian, that is sadly out of my domain, and firmly in yours; you'll have to decide precisely how much you trust the good nature of your countrymen.'

'When it regards fade walking?' he muttered. 'Not at all. Our record on the subject is not exactly the best.'

'Then I hope you are a very good liar,' Leliana shrugged, 'as you will have to tell him _something_.'

'I would strongly advise against it. Strenuously, even,' Dorian said, decisively shaking his head. 'Radonis is a better man than most, but…'

'The temptation is too great, Leliana,' Veldrin softly completed. 'Even if Radonis himself would understand the inherent danger, we would be placing him in an impossible position, politically. At least half the Magisterium would see him allowing something like a living god to slip though his fingers as at least criminal negligence.'

'I am glad we all agree on this, at least,' Leliana said, with a little smirk. 'The option of not informing him at all doesn't exist, though.'

'Why?' Dorian tiredly asked.

'Because he's intercepted our only controllable eluvian,' Sister Nightingale answered.

…and, as all the expletives in the language were insufficient, Dorian invented a few new ones; had he known that outside the warded barrier of his study, servants were busying themselves unhinging the entry doors to make room for the travelling mirror, which had been delivered to its destination with such pomp as one might have expected for the bones of an Imperator, he'd probably have swallowed his words.


	5. Of an Actress Too Honest

 

_And the Great Conductor of the Choir heard him._

**_Silence 1:8._ **

* * *

'Smile and wave, you say,' Dorian sighed.

'You say that. I say fucking fuck,' Veldrin answered, shirking close to him.

'Appropriate,' the man whispered. 'And we're being had without ointment.'

In the hallway beneath the staircase they were standing on, Archon Radonis was exchanging casual pleasantries with Dorian's mother. He was probably the only man in the Imperium who _could_ exchange pleasantries with his mother, Dorian thought, and the only man who could survive having the doors unhinged to bring in a thing that looked so obviously elven that his mother might have smashed it on the spot.

In a sense, he reasoned, on this one occasion he'd not have minded his mother's temper flaring. Smash the eluvian, forget about Solas, don't torture a child, don't chance awakening an Old God and start a Blight, and, among other minor things, don't break Veldrin's heart, if at all possible.

'Now we _need_ to tell him something,' she whispered. 'He's made it unavoidable.'

'No…' he mumbled. 'You think? We have precisely two minutes to decide what we tell him, though, and I suggest it should not be the truth.'

'Would you find it terribly disturbing,' Vel said, casting a worried glance over her shoulder to the study where Leliana, Morrigan and Cassandra still sat, 'if I told you that I trust Radonis more than I trust Leliana, at the moment?'

'I would not find it disturbing, I'd find it short sighted,' he replied. 'Look,' Dorian whispered, 'he only supported us and the Inquisition against the Venatori because we were winning. He'd have supported the Venatori otherwise. There are plenty of those who sympathised with Corypheus and his lot still in the Magisterium. Radonis' old pupil, Cassius, is one of them, and if you think Radonis doesn't know where _his_ sympathies lied, you are mistaken.'

'Hm,' Veldrin said, softly. 'I wonder how much he's needling our dear friend Cassius by doing this…'

'He's not needling him, Vel,' Dorian answered, 'he's putting Fereldan fire ants in his tender parts, and watching him squirm.'

_As much as he's watching us squirm,_ he thought.

'I doubt Cassius saw this coming more than we did; this is a slap that will send him spinning and set his entire side of the Senate on fire. Which will set _our_ half of the Senate on fire.'

_And we shall have a lovely, lovely bloodbath, to which all are invited, while Radonis is free to do as he likes, from above._

'And I thought Cassius only hated us because of our sense of dress,' Veldrin breathed.

'You'd be half right to think that, your sense of dress is terrible – somehow, you've never let go of that Solas inspired apostate hobo vibe,' Dorian said, biting his lower lip to prevent himself from smiling, then looking away to disguise the growing hardness in his eyes.

She was a brave little sprite, he thought.

'I suggest we explain the eluvian,' Veldrin said. 'What it is, what it does…'

'That will just lead him to asking what it is doing here,' Dorian answered. 'Besides, I am unsure if I recall my lies from eight years ago – I might have reported it's ancient and non-functional elven voodoo, nothing to see here, move along…'

'Well,' his wife said, placing her cold, dead arm on the bannister, in sign that she was ready to descend. 'Make an effort to remember what you did invent, because at least one of us is still too pretty to die. We'll tell him what it is, this time…It's the means by which we shall bring Solas here to kill him. Because, regardless of what Leliana wants, and the risks it entails, we _shall_ kill him, shan't we?'

She was also a curiously practical little sprite; no wonder he'd really sat for a painting with her, he thought, placing his arm about her waist, and noticing, with great satisfaction, that his mother had seen them both and had gathered the look of a caged bird of prey.

'Magistra Pavus,' Radonis exclaimed, standing a tad too briskly.

Maybe, Dorian thought, not even the Archon could bear his mother for quite that long.

'I seem to have found something of yours,' the Archon said, grinning from ear to ear. 'And it is large.'

'You honour my daughter in law too highly, your grace,' the dowager lady Pavus said. 'She is not a Magistra…'

'But she will be one soon; my intentions in what regard her must be the worst kept secret in Tevinter. Dorian,' Radonis greeted, offering his hand – Dorian shook it, actually feeling terrified. 'You have a lovely home, and a lovely family. If only we'd count new additions…And Veldrin, you look radiant.'

A radiant little sprite, Dorian thought…A radiant little sprite Veldrin was not.

His mother mercifully retreated, after Radonis gracefully but somewhat repetitively extended farewells, and promised he would visit again, very soon, and doubtlessly stay for dinner.

In the shade of the eluvian, the two humans looked particularly small – the thing was heavily warded, and radiated a cold aura. Dorian felt naught but the need to step away from it, yet Radonis had decisively approached it; to the Magister's great concern, he was scrutinising it attentively, neither showing any intent of sitting back down nor giving any hope that he might have been lured into another room of the house.

'A very beautiful antique,' Radonis remarked. 'Do you intend to have it restored?'

'If we can, we will,' Veldrin said, smiling. 'Your grace has ruined Leliana's surprise,' she outright giggled – the Archon chuckled, in turn, as if he'd somehow sensed the elf was not even lying.

'I thought she'd already given you a surprise,' he answered. 'I'd not like you to be overwhelmed by Sister Nightingale's attentions, just in case you forget that we care for you too – which we do, very deeply.'

He clenched his hands behind his back, expecting surrender, then, but a second later, prompting it.

'What is this, Dorian?' Radonis asked.

'It is called an eluvian,' Veldrin responded, in her husband's stead. She passed her right hand over the mirror's surface, and, responding to her barely there touch, the eluvian rippled as a clear pond beset by a sudden hail of pebbles. 'It is hard to even pronounce the word,' she followed, softly, 'as no one alive has heard it spoken; my accentuation might be imprecise. I've only seen its name written, and, as your grace well knows, elven is remarkably vague.'

'I am afraid I am not a scholar of it, either,' Radonis agreeably said. 'This word, and the device is describes, is not one of the many things the old Imperium _borrowed_ from Elvhenan.'

_Borrowed, of course, being the concept we all - except for the tiny pebble that is Solas - agree on,_ Dorian thought.

'One rarely borrows that which is of no use,' Veldrin shrugged. 'And this would not be of use,' she said, decisively turning her back on the mirror. 'By the time the Imperium found these, they would have been largely inoperable, and rendered so by the Elvhen themselves.'

'What they were,' she truthfully explained, 'was a means of transportation through the veil. This is why Elvhenan had no roads – we used these to move about.'

'A strange replacement for a road network,' Radonis said, frowning. 'How does one move caravans, or indeed, armies through such a thing?'

'They did not all look the same,' Veldrin replied. 'In my very brief experience of them, I have seen ones wide enough that a hundred knights might have passed, riding shoulder to shoulder. All dark,' she said, in truthful sorrow. 'You,' she said, meeting Radonis' glance, 'slam doors and destroy bridges when you go to war. The people smashed mirrors. By the time of the ancient Imperium, we'd smashed too many of them to count.'

Radonis nodded, thoughtfully glancing at the eluvian. 'Does it only respond to you, or can I or Dorian…'

'Magic is magic,' Dorian replied, finding his courage. He took a step forward, and held his hand to the mirror's surface without touching it – the eluvian rippled, just as it had with Veldrin. 'The disconcerting part is that since the method has long been lost, these are as vague as eleven turns of phrase; one cannot know where they will lead until one actively commits to reading the sentence to the end. Or, in this case, actively pass through them.'

'Fascinating – I do not even recall reading of this, Dorian,' Radonis stung.

Veldrin laughed. 'He had not yet worked his charm on me, thus he was…Excluded from the exploration of the first eluvian the Inquisition encountered for a number of reasons that I am certain your grace needs not be reminded of.'

'In other words,' Dorian shrugged, feeling more confident by the minute, 'they were as willing to share this with a Tevinter as we might be in sharing a copy of the Liberalum. Not the Brother Genitivi version of it…'

Radonis shuddered. 'Brother Genitivi wrote a Liberalum? Maker, no wonder the south thinks we are all walking demons. We should have the proper one distributed, once we sign with Ferelden.'

'So you should,' Veldrin said. 'In any event, Dorian is correct. Eluvians are pathways; sometimes wide, sometimes narrow; sometimes leading to great crossroads, sometimes but point to point links. Some entrances only. I think Sister Nightingale hopes we can restore this one into an exit only. An exit that can only lead to a trap through which death will swiftly follow, to the ruin of the upstart, but to our continued well being, and to the future friendships between our people.'

'We did not know of her plan until half past this hour,' Dorian hurriedly followed, 'and we are unsure if this is feasible. We…I,' he humbly said, 'am rather keen to keep my magical failures to myself. If we succeed in making this portal into a trap, we shall certainly seek your assistance in how to make it deadly. Thus far, we do not know…'

The Archon measured them both, his glance lingering on Veldrin's dead arm. 'So much death of once you once loved must hurt so _._ '

Veldrin swallowed dry, and nodded, keeping her head bowed. 'I never truly loved my arm, your grace.' She said, telling the truth with a lie. The tears in the corners of her golden eyes were real, however, and though Dorian had no illusion that Radonis was convinced of their hasty play, he also knew that Radonis was a delicate enough man not to press further. He had gotten all that he'd gone out of his way to find.

'I would remove myself to the company of old friends,' Veldrin said. 'As your grace knows, they are in the library, and I would…'

'Magistra Pavus, of course,' Radonis nodded. 'I meant no harm to you, nor wished a reminder of harm once done upon you. I'd not intended to linger, in the first place, just assure myself that you know I will help you in any way that I can.'

She nodded, and ran up the stairs, all too quick bare feet taking three steps at the time.

In the shadow of the eluvian, both humans were truly small, but only one of them knew it for certain.

'Don't try that again, Magister Pavus,' the one who did not see himself in true light said, in a sad and tired voice. 'I don't like wasting time on divining who is with me and who against me, and this kind of countering is beneath us both.'

'Your grace,' Dorian said, lowering his glance. He felt more ashamed than fearful.


	6. Of Principles and Their Sorrowful Demise

_The High Priest of Beauty, Architect of the Works of Beauty, designed_

_Every work and wonder of the Imperium according to the plans of his god._

_To him, the Conductor went in secret, armed_

_With the whisper of Silence._

**Silence 2:1**

* * *

_You imagine that it is always power that is the prize. Don't you, Morrigan?_

'That was before I beheld Kieran,' the witch said, sitting up in her bed. 'That was before I loved. Where are you, Flemeth? These words in my mind, these thistles, these cruelties…'

Tiny fires of forgotten fairies lit up Morrigan's bedroom, dancing and jumping. Two at first, but then ten, then twenty, then a hundred; it felt like less of a prison, with the tiny, impertinent lights.

_Guess again. The first hint is – not Flemeth._

'I cannot speak to you, Inquisitor.' Morrigan said, guessing right.

_Why? You're dreaming, and Leliana cannot follow us here. You think you are awake in bed, you are not. I see you, you are on your side, amid many pillows that do not help you rest. Your dreams are very dark, even without me. You sweat. Now, you turn only to find the other side of your pillow is wet as well…_

'Your arm was recovered with blood magic, Veldrin Lavellan.' The witch muttered. ''Tis plain to see…'

_Ah, Malefica Imperio... It took the blood of an innocent to restore my arm, yes. Further blood from that same innocent for me to walk in your dream…all so we could have this talk. Don't fight me, I am not here to harm you._

An inescapable sensation of warmth washed over Morrigan, and she felt at ease, despite the fact that her mind was reeling in alarm.

'You've changed,' she said; the thing in her thoughts was amused.

_Of course I have. It's been eight years. Haven't we all? Changed?_

'You are still only a pale imitation of true power,' Morrigan responded. 'Blood magic…'

_Has its limits, yes. Or, perhaps, I am not using enough of it. I saw no reason why I would try to manifest a physical presence by your side. It would be too much effort, and it would leave you under the illusion that you can lie to me. Does Solas manifest a physical presence when he does visit?_

The urge to lie rose and fell in the same heartbeat, punished by no more than a playful tug at the corners of thought.

_I told you you can't lie._

'Then why is there a need for me to speak?' the witch asked, in irritation.

_Because I am not as good as he was, and not even he could travel the mind as he travelled the fade. He could only create dreams, not watch past ones, because ironically, the dreams of the living Shem, elves included, are too weak to truly pass into his domain. I cannot wander through your mind as I would like – you need to show me around._

'Only once he appeared to me,' Morrigan relented. 'To assure himself I would not be a hindrance, which, as you well know, I'd not have been, had I not been found by the fearful and pathetic protectors of the Chant. His heart is unchanged,' she briefly added, trusting by now that even she did not voice her full thought, Veldrin could see it.

_He's not fond of change, no._

She felt sorrow, cold and crisp.

'Why do you oppose him, Inquisitor?' she asked of the dream voice. 'You must know that his world, his vision is no danger to you…You must know that if he succeeds, you'd become immortal. Why would you, of all…'

_You see? You do imagine that power is always the prize. The world we currently inhabit is not a pretty picture, Morrigan; I do not think fully reversing it would spell perfection, either. What is now a mountain that rests its snowy brow in the sky would become an abyssal chasm. What is now a chasm would become a mountain, but what would truly change? We'd still have mountains and chasms._

'That is inevitable,' Morrigan replied.

_True, but if the inevitable is to be accepted, I see no reason why the entire world should suffer to achieve a different state of misery. It is my choice not to hurt others, and it is my choice not to hurt you, Morrigan…I wish I had had a choice in what regards Kieran._

That much was true, the witch felt, as warmth and sorrow passed over her and through her.

'I believe you,' she said, looking at her clenched hands; they did not look like her own, yet felt familiar. She was, Morrigan realised, truly dreaming. 'Betwixt entire worlds and my son, I would choose my son, yet now, that Leliana has him, there is no place left to retreat to. I know what you want, Veldrin Lavellan, but I cannot give it…'

_Warden Stroud…_

'Warden Stroud has long forgotten you, and all he owes you,' Morrigan whispered. 'The gratitude of humankind is as short as its sight – even if it was not so, you are now of Tevinter. The only true and knowing friend you have left in Thaedas is Varric, and he is a Child of the Stone. He can do nothing for either you or Kieran.'

One of the many lights drifted before the witch's eyes, and blinked rapidly, in frustration. The dream voice sounded irritated.

_I cannot help you if you do not help me, witch._

'I have no means to help you,' Morrigan replied. 'You'd kill him if you could, I know this much.'

_So tell me how to. You must know; the well is within you, you know. Tell me. You are so many things, Morrigan, but you are not a coward._

'He cannot be killed more than Mythal can be killed, Lavellan.' The witch replied. 'There is a danger greater than you can imagine here…'

_I am more aware of that than you care to know._

'You are again asserting knowledge I assure you, you do not possess,' Morrigan snarled. 'In her blindness, Leliana does not grasp that mere human prisons will not hold Fen'Harel. He may be weakened and brought back to his own level of strength, but that strength will gather over time – he needs naught _but time_. No, Lavellan, the only way in which he can truly be defeated is not taking away his powers or killing him. It's taking away his intent.' She finished, knowing that the satisfaction in her thoughts could not be hidden, and not caring to hide it. 'For good.'

'Oh yes,' Morrigan laughed. 'You would not think of this, Veldrin Lavellan, your mind cannot travel to that…who is helping you with this blood ritual, Inquisitor? How much do you trust the innocent whom you are torturing now? How much do you trust…'

She abruptly sat up, in the perfect darkness of her bedchamber, and leaned back on her arms; her pillow was indeed wet, and she must have truly thrashed in her sleep, for the bedding was in terrible disarray. She wondered whether Lavellan had truly been standing over her all this time, yet…It no longer mattered, Morrigan thought, resting her sweaty forehead in her cool hand – she was awake now, and the voice, as the presence was gone.

'Not very much trust, then,' she whispered, feeling a chill though the satisfaction of landing the final attack did not dissipate. 'Not very much at all.'

* * *

'Tranquility,' Veldrin whispered, opening her eyes, in her own bed chamber; Dorian wordlessly removed the garrote from her left arm, and placed the waiting cup of warm brandy in her right hand. 'She thinks the only way we can actually stop him is tranquility.'

'This is going from the horrible to the obscene,' he sighed, tiredly walking away from her. 'All of this, Veldrin,' he reproachfully added, gesturing towards her open, black veins. 'You will never heal.'

'I know,' the elf softly responded. 'Thank you, for…'

'You will never heal of _anything_ ,' Dorian said – she guessed him to be both angry and concerned, but he helped her pull on an elbow-high very tight glove. 'Drink up,' he gently prompted, keeping expert pressure on her vein, just above the place where the silk of the glove was turning rosy. The woman winced, but obeyed.

'A healing potion…' Veldrin began.

'We do not have any, anywhere in the house, and you well know why we do not,' he scolded, shaking his head. 'You wanted to do this, you did it, now you must suffer; it's a very steep and slippery slope, Veldrin – you bleed yourself, drink a potion, and you are _fine_ , so you will bleed yourself just a little more the next time, or…'

… _Or,_ Veldrin thought, closing her eyes and allowing the warm, strong drink to spread some pleasant numbness though her chest and head, _I will begin thinking that anyone else that I bleed will be fine. And then…_

He did not say it, but she knew he was thinking it.

'Nobody starts out by outright believing they will become a monster,' the man said, and she knew all too well it was all true.

Though blood magic was not as prevalent in the Imperium as the south might have believed, it was still not at all rare, and many, sometimes people that both Veldrin and Dorian had regarded as close had gone down its path very fast, and with swiftly diminishing moral qualms. At first, their circles could not have been avoided, as both their attempts at reconstructing her arm had failed; Doran had insisted, then, and it had not been a question of esthetics – Veldrin needed her magic, and needed her arm, so they had frequented people he would normally have avoided, and learned things that neither had, at least for the beginning, wished to learn.

She'd been the better study, her curiosity unhindered by the actual experience of where the path could lead. The things they'd learned, the things they had done, were slightly painful but harmed none, and they'd succeeded in reconstructing her arm, so her curiosity had expanded. His had stopped once the goal had been accomplished, and he'd never looked back. She'd kept learning, and learned, disguising her genuine curiosity in the many veils of needing to overcome perceptions – attend this party or that, speak to this Magister, have tea with this Magistra. See people and be seen seeing them, don't look like a little savage provincial…

She'd never fooled him, and she was grateful.

There was power here, cheap and plentiful; Veldrin had truly never loved her mark, but had soon come to miss the influence it had given her, the sudden accidental elevation that she had managed so well. Blood magic was easy, and her body made blood. Not only that, but she was _good_ , very good, and learning what their circles of social acquaintances knew had made her realise she was actually more naturally talented, and inherently more powerful that any of the bred for Shem she was surrounded with.

The first time he'd caught her using it alone had been the closest to a genuine row they had ever come. They'd not actually rowed, though, because on that occasion, her first attempt at the dream walking she'd accomplished tonight, she'd minutely failed to kill herself. Had Dorian not wandered in, with a great lust for playing Diamondback, she probably might have. He'd growled at her a little on the next day, but that had been that – the subject had not been brought up again until, a few weeks later, he'd oddly accepted an invitation to a soiree from a couple he considered ghastly, but whose presence Veldrin actually enjoyed.

They'd stayed longer than Dorian normally countenanced the other two. Deserts and digestives had come and gone, they'd danced, and they'd laughed, and enjoyed each other more than the company. She'd actually started to wonder if she'd been wrong on her husband's dislike of the two when he'd not shown any signs of wanting to depart even when the number of guests had thinned threadbare, until, of course, in select company, the hosts had decided to end the evening on a high note, and make a fireworks display.

A beautiful, white horse had been brought into the mansion's vestibule. It had been shown around, it had been touched – Veldrin even remembered the feel of his fur. She'd fed it a piece of apple, just before it had been put on a small dais and stabbed in the throat. From its blood, the master of the house had conjured lights in the night sky, of such colours and vivacity as Veldrin could not have imagined, and would never have seen in the clearing where she'd grown up, where a fir tree branch thrown on an open fire threw sparks that made children and grown elves laugh and clap.

The colours and lights of a dream, but she'd not rushed to the balcony because all she could see was the crimson of the animal's blood weaved to magic by her host's fingers. It was still thrashing as the wondrous lights danced, and she'd wanted no more than to turn and run – there was a dream before her eyes, and blood pooling under her feet. She'd started for the door, but Dorian had held her tight, and tightly in place.

'The next time they do this, it will be an elf, not a horse, Amata,' he'd whispered in her ear, as the blood of the animal destroyed their expensive shoes. 'This is where it leads.'

With those few words he'd made a point the southern Chantry had fought to make for generations, and she had stopped…for a month, then half a year…for a while. Just as with all things that bring power or pleasure, the hook had been sunk in her mind, and its tug had proven too powerful to completely resist. She'd watched herself, however, and finally, when she'd realised that the temptation of going too far was too much for her alone to reign in, she'd confessed, and asked him to actively watch her, too.

Defeated, and with no sense of humour on the matter, Dorian had agreed, while Veldrin had found the confines he set comforting and comfortable; she'd even jested that, with this arrangement behind them, it was a bit clearer why some southern mages actually liked their templars. He'd not even cracked a smile.

As, she feared, he'd not smile again tonight.

Veldrin kept her eyes closed for a second longer, then forced herself to open them, for no other reason than that she felt weak and nauseated, and was loath to give in to either sensation.

'Well,' the man sighed, 'this is what happens when you do things you should not be doing, to find answers to questions you should not be asking.'

He'd sat on the edge of her bed, looking as though he was too tired to even be angry.

'You're right, of course. I should probably not have asked.'

Dorian drew a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his forehead. 'No chance she is lying?' he asked.

'I do not think so,' Veldrin quietly replied. 'I get the very strong sensation that, had Leliana not twisted her arm, Morrigan would be more than pleased to let Solas destroy the veil. She's…not very much of this world, either.'

'Now, after the well, even less than before,' he agreed. 'Morrigan is correct in one aspect, though, Veldrin – tranquility is a prison that not even Solas can escape on his own.' Dorian said, questioningly glancing at her. 'Hear me through,' he said, when she opened her mouth to protest. 'I am feeling rather a dunce for needing a pint of your blood to see this – it eliminates both the chance of a later awakening, and crucially, settles our concern that anyone will understand his power and try to replicate it…'

'Tranquility can be reversed,' Veldrin said, dryly.

'Perhaps,' he shrugged, 'but Cassandra's Seekers of Truth are the only ones who know how to, and I do not see them being forthcoming with that information. In fact, I think if this simple and masterful idea occurs to Leliana, that book of the Seekers' will be fire food within the hour.'

'Cassandra is not one to bury knowledge, Dorian. It goes against every principle she's ever upheld.' The woman refuted, shaking her head and feeling as if the dead flesh of her arm had started to stretch under her healthy skin.

'Well, Amata,' he slowly replied, 'I am not seeing anyone's principles putting up much of a fight, here. Never mind Cassandra's or Leliana's…Neither yours nor mine are looking quite as bright and shiny as either of us would prefer them to be; you're tethering on the verge of becoming a maleficarum, and I am on the verge of becoming Vivienne, dispensing tranquility rites and burning books, left and right – I am unsure which is worse. Maker,' he whispered. 'Solas is right,' Dorian bitterly chuckled. 'Conflict does breed the need for simplicity. Don't do this, Vel…' he said, at some length.

'What?' she asked, in return; she'd not noticed for how long she'd remained silent.

'Hide. Not tell me what you're thinking,' the man said. 'Even if you are thinking that simplicity for you, now, would be to warn Solas of what we are planning, let this world burn, and have whatever god sort out his own. Even if you are thinking that, don't hide.'

She looked away, fighting the sudden, growing cold of their very first distance.

'If Solas alone walked untouched by this life's massacre of all our principles,' the woman said, trying to smile once more, 'I'd be thinking that, yes. But he's not, so…Did Corypheus not…'

'Pose any moral dilemmas to me?' he chuckled, making the room and the air between them just a tiny bit warmer. 'No, none at all – and it is funny that you should ask _now._ Back then, you were the only one who took my intentions at face value.'

'Perhaps because we time travelled and dealt him the first defeat of many together,' Veldrin said. 'Hard to hold on to suspicions after that…'

'Leliana might be worth a mention in that context, Vel,' he said, with a wink.

'Maybe, but you and I are the only ones who remember what Corypheus' world might have looked like.'

'True…No, I never had any moral qualms,' Dorian said. 'In fact, personal context meant I probably wanted to gouge his eyes out more than any of you. The world he sought to bring back was not some sort of idyllic legend – it was not even a legend, per se. It is not the same for you and Elvhenan; we know the truth of its fall was far from Dalish tales, but we still know close to nothing about its actual existence. Maybe it was knife ear heaven, and maybe it was the best of all worlds for your people…'

She groaned and rolled her eyes, slowly relaxing. 'Not even Solas says it was that.'

'My point is that I cannot and could not excuse anyone in present day Tevinter who'd seek to bring back the Old Imperium,' Dorian shrugged, 'because we actually _know_ what the Old Imperium was like. We killed half the world. We started the Blights. Would I be ready to comprehend how a mistreated Tevinter slave, a Dalish elf, hounded from forest to forest, or a city elf, scurrying like vermin…how any scion of a culture once proudly rooted and powerful, now rendered unwelcome on its own lands would dream of a recovered Elvhenan? Far more so. Being misled by a dream is not the same magnitude of crime as ignoring reality, Vel.'

'That is why,' he ended, in a kind tone, 'I would prefer to stop Solas only, not an army of Elvhen. We've fought the Qun for three years…Did you not see Iron Bull in every Qunari we killed?'

'Yes,' she whispered. 'Of course I did.'

'I would prefer stopping _him._ Ending the one man, the one person, _once,_ rather than seeing he, who I grudgingly respected, you, who I respect and deeply care for, and even silly, outrageous Sera, who inspired naught but bewilderment, in the face of every elf I kill.'

Veldrin gathered her knees to her chest.

'But could you live with yourself with looking into his eyes and finding them empty?' the woman dreamily queried.

'Forgive me, Vel, but I and Solas did not do much gazing in each other's eyes.' Dorian answered, lifting both eyebrows. 'Somehow, he was very adamant that I am not his type.'

'Perhaps,' she said. 'Would you…then, prefer to prove Morrigan right? Mankind,' Veldrin whispered, tilting her head to the side to meet his glance, 'stumbles through the world, killing all its wonders…'

_Elves,_ she thought. _Spirits, dragons…_

'For better or worse Solas is one of the few wonders left in the world,' she continued, curling in bed, by his side, for the lightheadedness caused by the blood loss was truly beginning to affect her. 'He's also the only true link the Elvhen have to our past…and I know what _you_ are thinking, that if he is made tranquil, he will become the greatest library the world has ever known, but…'

'…it is not the same for you,' Dorian said, distractedly playing with the tip of her ear.

'It is one thing to read about Minrathous and well another to see it,' Veldrin shrugged, shifting her head on the pillow, to pleadingly meet his glance. He grinned at the shy manipulation attempt.

'These days, it is better to read about it than see it,' he sighed. 'I understand where you are leading, Veldrin, yet Solas is…'

Dorian paused, looking for his words. 'I understand his shock at the world in which he awoke, at the terrible consequences of his actions; I even understand his hostility to me, as sublimation. For all his curiosity and erudition, this man is a hot-tempered warrior, though. He will not share a renewed Elvhenan with humans, even if they are magically and spiritually aware. He will massacre the Qun to a child. In fact, I am in serious doubt he will welcome the Shem elves in his Elvhenan – you were less of an ant to him than most of us, but that was because…How did Sera put it? Ah, drop'em small clothes, and rebuild the empire! Phwoar, patriotic duty, vhenan!' he chuckled, making her smile sadly at the memory as well.

'Might have been the Mark alone…' she scolded.

_Everything might feel so much easier if it was only that._

'I think it was both,' he said, caressing her hair. 'You not only survived it, but you managed to manipulate the fade open as well as closed, without anyone teaching you how to. You also briefly gained control of his focus orb…'

'Only to destroy it,' Veldrin softly refuted.

'Details, details... There is probably something in you that only he saw. That only he _could_ see. Maybe you can actually make little god-elves on your own – I propose an experiment.' He followed, in regained humour. 'You let go of this abstinence nonsense, and have a go at some happy monkey business with someone else but him. I doubt House Pavus will even see pointy ears, if they come out all glowy and casting chain lightning at the servants if diapers are not changed on time; there is also the option of a small surgical intervention to make ears flat, thus promoting them to the master race…'

'Dorian!' she exclaimed, feeling amused and annoyed at the same time, and trying to lift herself on her elbow. The room spun, all things shifted in and out of colour, and she fell back, lost in the fade-less, dreamless dark.

'…how much blood did she use?' she heard, as through a thick door.

Lexi's voice was present, and close.

'About a pint, Lexi. Maker, I saw her bleeding about a pint, she should not…'

'Look at the size of her, Dorian, she weighs only a pint if soaking wet already. Veldrin.' Lexi called, 'Veldrin, come back. Vel, come back!'

She felt a slap and her teeth clattered.

She wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to say she was awake, but her lips would not move, and her eyelids simply fluttered. She heard Lexi, gentle, humorous Lexi ordering Dorian to lock the door in a commanding bark.

She heard a swift swish and strangle, she heard a blade's swift draw too, but it was not her arm the blade found blood in.

Veldrin felt warm and safe.

_Not you too, Lexi,_ she thought she heard Dorian say, before she fell asleep.


	7. Of Love, Lust, Envy, and All Demons

 

_But the High Priest of Beauty was sorely troubled,_

_For he served only the Great Plans_

_And would in no way of wisdom raise a servant of Silence_

_Above himself or his God._

**Silence 2:2**

* * *

'How long?' Dorian spat.

Lexi rolled his eyes.

'Less strop, more thank you would be in order here,' he growled back. 'And dare I suggest you keep your voice down?'

'Why?' the Magister exclaimed, throwing his arms up in annoyance. 'I seem to be the only person in this house tonight who thinks proper magic is…proper. Have I been asleep for a decade, and conventional studies have become _that_ passé? Am I that ridiculously out of step with fashion? Do I need to shop for new robes, preferably in crimson, so blood stains don't show, or will just getting a solid silver razor do?'

'You also need some sort of container, size varying by intended scale of effects…' Lexi shrugged, then, upon noticing Dorian's anger was not abating, sighed and let his shoulders slump. 'It is not that big of an issue, and I fail to comprehend why you are reacting this way. This was naught but tolerated practice…'

'How long, Lexi?'

'Since I was twelve, alright?' the Altus hissed. 'My instructors thought a pact with a dweller of the fade would help with my ascendance test, and it did. I've been doing it since always – and no, in twenty something years, I have not moved on to small animals, or large animals, or anything else but minor restorative spells. Blood of willing participant, remember?'

'Oh, I remember that part,' Dorian replied, beginning to pace rapidly. 'What I do not recall is you ever telling _me_ about it.'

Lexi let himself drop in the armchair before the long spent fire in the room they shared when he visited. 'The opportunity never arose…'

'In eight years, the opportunity simply did not…arise,' Dorian ironically shot, stopping and crossing his arms over his chest. 'Interesting. Fascinating, even.'

'Alright,' Lexi relented, pleadingly looking up. 'At first, when we…began, it was not the sort of thing you blurt out in a drunken or climactic haze with a person you have just met. It's still only tolerated, not officially legal - what we are is dangerous enough, and my family is far lower than yours.'

'Then,' he whispered, 'when things between us _changed,_ and you trusted me enough to tell me what occurred between you and your father, I was already past the point of no return – I did not know if you were; I desperately wanted you to like me, or at least feel more certain with the two of us before I chanced…'

'I am sorry,' he whispered, as Dorian crashed in the armchair opposite his. 'I love you so much, and I feel so far beneath you, for all of the things you have seen, all of the things that you have done, that…'

'I'm sorry too,' Dorian whispered, hiding his face in his hands. 'I'm sorry that I have never, for all of these years, made you feel like you could trust me.'

'It was never that, Amatus,' Lexi said, shaking his head and looking away. 'It is just…Look at us, Dorian,' he followed, softly. 'I am only two years younger than you, but I am still an Altus, while, I assure you, it's not only idiots who mention your name for Archon.'

'I inherited a seat.' The Magister briskly refuted.

'No, alright? No,' Lexi replied, in growing irritation at himself. 'If you had not inherited your father, you would have inherited Magister Alexius, via Felix, and we both know it. You managed to build support in the Magisterium from Orlais, long before you even had a seat, you married a woman who you care for and who cares for you, exactly as you are…You've defeated a would-be god and are now fighting another, while I still struggle to find a patron.'

Dorian lifted his glance to his lover's. 'I've already offered, Lexi.'

'And I have already said _no_ ,' the Altus replied. 'I adore you, and I don't want to be in your debt…No more than already am for _this_ ,' he said, angrily pressing his open palm on the chair's armrest. 'I never thought I could ever share what we share with anyone – sex in an alley, in a cupboard, when one cannot bear any longer - yes, but a friendship? a relationship? Love? A dream. With someone like you? Never, in all the ages,' he huffed, standing and turning away. 'You are sixty feet tall to me, Dorian…' Lexi whispered, swallowing dry. 'So when you, from that height, tell me blood magic is the resort of the weak mind, how am I to come out and tell you: Oh, I am a bit of a blood mage as well, you know, not a very good one, because I probably am not that great of a mage, in the first place?'

Dorian embraced him from behind then, yet he felt angry enough to fight it – not punish Dorian, but to punish himself. Still, the Magister held tight and Lexi's own struggles were weak.

'I should go,' Lexi nonetheless whispered. 'Long way to Quarinus, and I've disappointed you enough for one serving. I shall have to strive to outdo myself, next time…'

'Not like this, Lexi,' Dorian said. 'Please. Not like this,' he repeated, holding the other man's hand. 'I've had one of the heaviest days in my existence thus far, and that is saying quite a lot. Vel scared me, and I overreacted... I am grateful you stayed another day, and chanced…I am just grateful. I love you. Don't go yet.' The Magister said, bringing Lexi's fingers to his lips and causing him to simply _want_.

They did not need the firelight, not even candles, to find each other; the full moon was enough, while fingertips and lips knew all the paths to secret places. Dorian was far away, but not distant, and Lexi had many ways of calling him back and keeping him close, and finally, albeit briefly, keeping him prisoner to their shared pleasure…

On this eve, in the bed that the Altus loved to think of as _theirs,_ he denied Dorian all control over the rhythm and manner of their caresses – Dorian yielded to his wrists being affixed to the bedpost without even the jest resistance he sometimes posed. The sweet way in which he surrendered all but made Lexi forget his resolve of making the most of the few hours they still had left, and simply surrender to brief climax himself; he pulled himself from the brink though, as much as he withheld his captive lover from it – not one more failure, he told himself, as he moved his hips against Dorian's, no more shortcuts. No rush, no time, no menacing dawn.

It would be weeks, perhaps months before they could again be together, and although he tried not to think on it, not now, when the man that he loved was his in all ways, the thought of the long separation was present and tempered the fire, allowing him to feel, at every motion, how much he loved this man's body – his arms, his chest, his stomach, his sex, his thighs…The colour of his skin, the angle of his jaw, his lips, the pale green of his eyes…And in this view, above all others, Lexi wished to get lost, on this continent he wished to aimlessly wander, and did, for he made the tender toil last, bringing them close, as often as he pulled them back from the edge countless times, drowning in giving the other pleasure until Dorian's breath carried more of the spice of pleading that the sweetness of moans. Only then did his thrusts gain true, all but painful strength, only then did his stroking of the other's sex gain both pressure and speed – and he released Dorian knowing that his lover's soft shudder would bring him release too, a creeping, bitter sweet sense of satisfaction at the end of a dream.

Dorian spun between the sheets and kissed him, holding his hand to Lexis' cheek, and snaking his arm under the other man's pillow to pull him closer.

'Can we at least not spread rumours of an abduction by brigands?' Dorian asked, as they cooled, under the hot and wet sheets, which would only keep the cold shroud of sorrow of their bodies for a few moments longer. 'An extravagant ransom? Invent a tale of how you were held chained to a post in a dark cellar for a week?'

_Don't go. I love you, please stay – another day, another night, another week…_

'I can indulge on the latter part,' the Magister added. 'You know, the best lie is a half truth…'

Lexi softly shook his head, and pressed his lips to Dorian's again, closing his eyes. 'You know I can't, Dorian,' he whispered. 'I wish…' Lexi began, but there were so many things he wished for that that speaking them all might have consumed even the painfully blanching darkness outside their window.

He turned his back on his lover, and pulled his arms around himself, snuggling to Dorian's chest. 'I wish I could help,' Lexi said. Dorian tightened his grip, and nodded, kissing him behind the ear – then, in hushed whispers, spoke of his day, since awakening to the southern Divine, through the meeting the dragon and the poisonous Nightingale…He spoke of treacherous gifts from Radonis, of old elven pathways and forgotten mirrors, of mere human boys who were vessels for old gods…Of how trapped he felt, in the tangled web of suspicion that was growing around him…and perhaps, Lexi thought, allowing his lover's silky voice to caress his hearing, and stifle him in warmth and comfort, it was truly all a jest, a lie, and inventive fairy tale that Dorian was telling him to lull him to sleep so he'd forget the approach of dawn and stay…He wished to do no more than fall asleep, and stay…

But it was not a fairy tale, it was not a romantic, childish trick – proof of it stood tall in the entry hallway of the mansion; further, incontestable proof slept soundly two doors down from their apartments, in the shape of an elven woman who had walked into the fade, and now walked through a field of thorns, in a dragon's dreams.

_The elven woman who'd come further in three years of practicing blood magic than Lexi had in twenty._

He chased that particular thought away, in shame; Dorian would have hated it, so he hated it too. Like a rabid dog, the thought but circled and returned to bite in another way, leaving tooth marks which were not scars of envy, but jealousy that fed gluttonously on guilt.

'You do not sleep with Veldrin, do you, Dorian?' Lexi whispered.

The Magister lifted himself on an elbow, and beheld him from above. 'What foolishness is this?' he asked, frowning. 'Serious foolishness,' he remarked, a second later, taking note of the look of defeated sorrow in Lexi's eyes. 'I am flattered! Of course I do not sleep with Vel, Amatus – she is missing some parts I greatly enjoy, has some I don't particularly care for, and even if she had a ten-foot _pole_ , she would not touch _me_ with it if I begged her…'

'Because she is an elf, and you are…' Lexi began to ask.

'Because she is in utterly love with another person, Lexi,' Dorian scolded. 'You know, love? that inexplicable higher insanity that keeps even intelligent and otherwise frisky people in monogamous relationships? Or monoandrous, as the case may be.'

'Then, Dorian,' Lexis said, 'if I dare ask…'

'Anything, Amatus.' Dorian answered, setting his chin on his lover's shoulder.

'If I were to fall into the ways of a maleficarum, truly fall…If the Magisterium and Radonis would show you proof uncontestable of me having gone so far with the blood that I could not be brought back, If _I_ had done great and terrible things, if then, a sentence of tranquility was passed…'

Dorian briskly sat up. 'What are you asking, Lexi?'

'If it was me, and not this Solas, would you stand by and watch them make me tranquil, even if my guilt was beyond doubt?'

'That is not in the realm of the imaginable, Lexi,' Dorian said, clenching his teeth. 'A century of blood magic would not render you capable of the utter destruction…'

The Altus sighed. 'I feel so appreciated; I am about to burst with pride.'

'It _is_ a compliment,' Dorian said.

'It did not sound like one, Amatus.' Lexi bitterly answered. 'But…Let us not dwell on capability, for either harm or good, or anything else…Would _you_ let them me tranquil?'

'No,' Dorian whispered, in a shudder. 'I would kill you, first; I cannot imagine your body without your soul.'

'What makes you think Vel could live with it, then?' Lexi gently replied. 'Don't do it, Dorian. Don't speak of it to your southern associates. Don't even think of it…' He whispered, brushing a sweaty strand of hair off his lover's forehead. 'Don't do it to yourself, first and foremost – you abhor the rites of tranquility. If Vel had rendered Magister Alexius tranquil…'

'Vel and I would probably not be where we are, no,' Dorian answered, laying back down, putting his hand on Lexi's chest, and huddling close. 'But the political implications of this are going to be catastrophic, whichever way we decide to play it.'

'Have you spoken to Magistra Tilani1?' Lexi asked; he felt his lover shirk, slightly, and it was his turn to frown. 'Well, Dorian,' the Altus said, 'you are running in circles because everyone in your immediate circle of trust has ulterior motives, and everyone is, understandably, either overcautious or after a piece of this Solas creature…'

'You're not,' Dorian muttered.

'Give me two weeks and a bit more pillow-side chatter and I might want an ear and a pint of god-elf blood off him too,' Lexi joked.

'That was unworthy, Lexi,' The Magister sighed.

'It was, but I am simply warning you not to wall yourself in,' Lexi reiterated, in all seriousness. 'So far, it is just you and Veldrin against the world, with me doing endearing, but pointless cheering from the sidelines. If you do not go for the tranquility or capture and imprisonment route, you will need something more solid than my love and goodwill.'

'And you think Maevaris would provide that?' Dorian sighed.

'I think she could give you a different perspective on this, which both of you desperately need,' Lexi shrugged. 'She's not a militant for elven rights…'

'Truth be told, Amatus, I doubt anyone but Veldrin outright is,' Dorian replied. 'Not even I could truthfully claim those credentials.'

'Perhaps, but Maevaris is one of very few Magisters who will absolutely understand why keeping this elven god of yours alive, in whatever box, is a very tricky proposition. She's had her hands full with the Venatori here, while you were cavorting in the south – the last thing she wants is for their remaining agents to know they still have a shot of breaching into the fade.'

'The politically intelligent and moral way out of this, Amatus,' Lexi softly followed, 'is killing this man. It's what Radonis expects you to do. Do it.'

'What I _hope_ he expects us to do,' Dorian sighed. He turned on his back, and crossed his arms under his head. 'You still keep forgetting that…'

'I am not forgetting that, Dorian,' Lexi replied, a bit testily. 'I am just finding your – and Vel's, for that matter – faith in whatever the legend of Fen'Harel is, is oddly selective. You believe he created the veil; you believe he sealed away the rest of the Elvhen pantheon, but you do _not_ believe what you say the man himself stated over and over: that he _is_ mortal, just like the rest of the Evanuris.'

'You did not see Mythal,' the Magister groaned. 'They bloody are immortal _.'_

'No,' Lexi briskly refuted. 'It's true, I did not see Mythal, and I have not seen Fen'Harel, but the fact that they are still alive after all these millennia in no way implies they are immortal. It simply implies no one knows how to kill them, Dorian. Slight semantic difference, but one I find relevant.'

Dorian remained silent for a moment, and reached for Lexi's hand in blind. 'I love you,' he whispered, yet it was not the surrender Lexi was looking for – it was merely an attempt to escape the conversation. The Altus sighed.

'Alright,' he whispered. 'Let me then twist the semantics in a different way…Let us imagine a love affair so far beyond the confines of the real world that once one lover goes, the other's life comes to a grinding halt, too.'

Dorian turned his head to meet Lexi's glance and frowned deeply.

'I've made Veldrin…' he began to protest; his lover's incredulous smirk cut him off.

'You have made Veldrin happy, yes, and she has made you happy too, and I am more grateful for that than you know,' Lexi said, gently but sternly. 'But in marrying you, and coming _here,_ Vel has made the most powerful statement she could possibly make… No woman with love scars she thinks will heal would marry _you,_ Dorian, and not in Tevinter. What Veldrin has done here screams that she has absolutely no hope of ever mending: she'll not fall in love again, she'll never make love again, she will not have children, even if she might have once wanted them. She's cut herself off from any imaginable form of a normal future.'

'But she will build a legacy here that…'

'Maker, a _legacy_ ,' Lexi shot, 'I didn't realise I'd gone to bed with you and woken up next to your father, Dorian. I'm sorry, Amatus, but it is true.' He said, biting his lower lip. 'If I were you, I would not underestimate any feeling that leads to that amount of sacrifice. Even her enthusiasm for blood magic is a form of self-flagellation – every time she does it, she drifts further and further away from the fade, which is, conceivably, the only place where…'

'…she could still be with him, yes,' Dorian whispered.

'So then,' Lexi followed, 'let me move away from the politics of this all, and simply into a lover's heart. If this was you, Dorian, and I was faced with the prospect of knowing that you are locked away, conscious and tortured, in some cage, I would fight tooth and nail to free you; if anyone robbed you of yourself, I would stop at nothing to bring you back, I swear, regardless…'

The Magister tiredly rubbed his temples.

'Veldrin is remarkable in that she does not hate us all,' Lexi followed, 'but I would seriously consider how far that sentiment will stretch, if we erase or outright steal all that is left of Elvhen history, all while torturing the man she has sacrificed so much for.'

'Are you telling me not to trust Vel?' Dorian smirked.

'I'm telling you that all lovers' hearts have limits,' Lexi answered. 'And Dorian, perhaps the very last limits you wish to test are those of a militant wild elf with great spiritual affinity, unknown magical channeling capacity and very little left to lose. The dream walk she accomplished tonight is truly no small feat; the fact that she accomplished it with her blood alone is all but miraculous. You do not want to let Sister Nightingale or this Morrigan, or indeed, Radonis, to push Veldrin into agreeing with Fen'Harel in that this unchanging world must burn. Don't say…'

'…that Vel would _never_ ,' Dorian answered, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. 'I know, Lexi,' he said. 'If Solas had set off to expulse all humans from the Dales, I have no doubt in mind whose side Veldrin would be on. I would not even blame her.'

'Help her kill him, Amatus,' Lexi said, softly. 'Whether it will be a true death, or merely a return to the fade, it will free Vel or perhaps give her time to change _his_ mind. Give us _all_ time to change his mind – that too is a form of removing intent.'

The dread, blood-red light of dawn cruelly grabbed across their pillows. 'I have to go,' Lexi whispered; Dorian grasped his hand tight enough for the hold to be painful – they kissed, in a lingering, bitter-sweet and unspoken goodbye before the Altus tore himself away.

'I love you, Dorian,' he said, standing in the doorway and looking back on their bed. He clasped the doorsill so tightly that his fingers turned white.

'I know,' Dorian said, and Lexi turned, and left, one reluctant step after the other, not one easier than the previous one – a silent, injured shadow gliding along secret staircases.

Why saying goodbye to Dorian always felt so final, Lexi did not know. They always made plans for the next time they would meet – the plans always came to pass; they wrote and spoke through their crystal, yet, each and every time felt the last, and it took all of Lexi's self restraint to keep tears from stinging at the corners of his eyes as he ascended into the already waiting carriage.

Terrible, long weeks awaited him in Quarinus, and the one secret he still kept from Dorian would not remain a secret for very much longer, as women's bellies only took so few short weeks to grow round and heavy.

_I am a wretched coward,_ Alexius Hadrian thought, burying his face in his hands, and not noticing that the carriage he was in was taking one wrong turn after the other.

* * *

Magister Cassius kicked the puppy.

Well, _puppy_ was a way of saying. The bulky cross between a cow and a wolf was, according to its proudly Ferelden adorned pedigree scroll, five weeks old, but it already weighed a solid forty pounds. Wisdom would therefore have pointed that kicking the blasted thing was not an advisable course of action, as Cassius felt he'd break his ankle before he could sway the animal from chewing on his chair's legs. Or on the bookcase. Or on his priceless Rivain carpet – some small parts of which the Mabari had not yet peed on.

And it still peed like a bitch, Cassius thought, in utter disgust. His own hunt master had assured him that once the dog came of age, and his testicles descended, he'd start lifting his leg to take a piss, and then _nothing_ would be safe: not his rosewood desk, not the books in the bookcase, not his own robes, nothing.

For what was even worse, the Mabari seemed to grasp exactly how unwanted it was, so, aside peeing far more than any intake of fluid might have physically justified, it also shat all over and then retired into a corner, growling with its needle-like milk teeth on full display.

'I'll make a carpet of you, beast!' Cassius shouted; the dog barked loud enough to make the windows rattle. 'Skin you and salt you on both sides! Just you wait!' the Magister menaced.

The dog's ears perked, and it tilted its head to the side listening for something out of the human's hearing range. It left its corner and positioned itself in front of the door, feet wide apart and head lowered. The growl it let out seemed to make the floor shake – if ever an earthquake might have had a forewarning noise…

This, at least, Cassius found soothing; he retreated behind his desk, and sat, taking great care to balance his chair off the leg the dog had weakened. It took some effort, but he'd be damned if he'd lose one further slither of dignity.

The man who opened the door wasted no time on the dog, and taught Cassius a valuable lesson on how the beast was to be handled – once he'd stepped in, the early morning visitor struck the Mabari across the snout with a horse crop. When the dog did not immediately back away, he did so again, twice, in rapid succession, drawing blood from the Mabari's nose; it whinnied and backed away in its corner.

'Truffle's pretty much the only place where you can hurt'em,' the newcomer explained in a thick and jarring Fereldan accent, wiping the horse crop of blood on his breeches. 'Get!' he shouted, causing the animal to curl and make itself small.

'Good to know,' Cassius said, smiling. ' _Very_ good to know.'

He paused, taking satisfaction in watching the dog lick its wounded nose.

'Can it bleed to death that way?' he casually asked.

'Na,' the other man responded. 'But it'll teach him a manner.'

Without ceremony, the newcomer discarded his horse crop on the already stained carpet, and laid on the delicate, Orlesian ottoman across the room from Cassius's desk, propping his muddy boots on its elaborately carved arm rest, and not minding the blood traces he left on the embroidered silk.

'You have what I asked you to bring,' Cassius said.

'Sniveling, naked, bound and gagged,' the other man confirmed. 'I do wonder, Tevinter…who's the deviant to you? The one who pumps the arse or the one being pumped in the arse?'

'Both,' the Magister said, sweetly, not bothering to disguise the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The fact that Radonis had not kept his word in allowing him further time for investigation had infuriated Cassius to no end; he'd spent the best part of the previous eve in such a rage that his house slaves had not dared enter his apartments, and left his dinner in front of the door. This too had proven a terrible mistake for the dog, who was too young to be allowed to mingle with Cassius' own hunting hounds in the kennels had helped himself to half a pork leg and, the magister could swear, a carafe of wine.

Still, the pacing and cursing had not proven entirely useless, for, as he continuously rehashed his former master's words in his mind, Cassius had come to understand that of the stack of cards Radonis held, he'd truly dealt his student an ace, in the form of sound advice. He could not infiltrate House Pavus, that much was true, but it was not needed. Why fight the impossible odds of the new elven Andraste, when, just outside the gates of House Pavus opportunity waited, weak, nameless and frail, and ready to be _penetrated…_ in more ways than one.

Cassius chuckled out loud at his own thoughts.

'Naked, bound and gagged,' he repeated, feeling the creeping warmth of triumph.

'Want me to bring him up?' the Fereldan asked.

'No,' Cassius said. 'Radonis gave me three days to inform him – I have two left. Use one of them to tenderise Altus Hadrian, and make his present plight...clear. I am sure I need not explain how you should endeavour. Leave the questioning to me…and get your filthy boots off my couch. I already have one Ferelden dog too many.'

The other man smirked, but picked himself off the couch in one fluid motion; to Magister Cassius' great displeasure, he did not hurry to leave.

'To the small matter of payment, then,' he said, grinning from ear to ear, and revealing yellowing teeth that hinted at foul breath.

'My secretary will handle you,' Cassius replied, finding that he could imagine the stench of the other man's mouth at six paces. As if sensing the Tevinter's thoughts, the kidnapper took a wide stride towards the desk.

'What is it?' he asked, his grin widening to such an extent that the Magister could see he was missing a canine. 'Don't wanna leave your prints on the coin?'

'Handling money is vulgar,' Cassius snarled. 'Go about your business, and be thorough. When I meet Hadrian, I hope to find him in a very talkative mood. Perhaps,' he added, feeling pleased of his sudden idea, 'with a few less teeth…'

_Maybe Pavus will actually thank me for that one,_ Cassius dreamily thought.

'As you wish, Tevinter,' the Fereldan man agreeably said, finally turning to leave. 'Tho',' he threw in over his shoulder, 'you might not wish him that horribly scarred, in my professional opinion. Ya know, new scars cover old scars…'

'Old scars?' Cassius inquired, arching an eyebrow.

'Strikes me like your pretty caged song bird has some very fresh blood-letting scars on both his forearms. Thought it might interest you to keep those obvious…'

'How extensive?'

'I don't know, Tevinter, your ways are filthy to me. Don't look like he revived a horse, but I doubt it matters.'

Cassius threw his head back and laughed, congratulating himself on his choice of agent, and considering that, perhaps he'd struck gold in both directions here. It was not only what Alexius Hadrian would gracefully share, after experiencing the hospitality of the mansion's cellars; it was also what Dorian Pavus himself might share, to keep his lover from the templars.

He quickly ran the Liberalum though his mind, just to assure himself that the Hadrian line was short, and no unexpected protectors would arise – he could find none, off the top of his head and, as ancient Tevinter wisdom informed, the smaller the name, the larger the crime.

'That just earned you another stack of coin,' he said. 'See yourself out.'

The Fereldan man smacked his lips in anticipation, and headed for the door – the dog growled at him, but did not lounge.

'Leave me the horse crop,' Cassius suddenly remembered. 'You'll find everything you need in the cellar, and,' he ended, throwing a murderous glance in the Mabari's direction, 'I have a manner or two to teach as well.'

* * *

1 Maevaris Tilani is a member of the Magisterium that the Inquisition can support from afar in one of Dorian's first War Table missions in Inquisition. The lady (who is transgender) performs the top of all political and economical ploys to get her Magisterial seat - if gentle, camp, but still very male Dorian is in trouble, imagine what it must be like for this lady - and it is not only the Inquisition who helps her. I won't say more (read the comics, they are a couple of bucks each and not bad writing and visually beautiful), except that she is a close friend of Varric's, a powerful mage, very closely aligned to Dorian's vision of what the Imperium should be, and a genuinely good person. Also, she's hot. And seductive. Highly seductive. Alistair has to be warned off her in the comics…Not your type, Ali, NOT YOUR TYPE! Poor Varric warns.


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